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PRICE TWENTY-FIVE CENTS ^C^[ 

ALONG THE 
MISSOURI 

BY 

HARRY VAN DEMARK 







THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 
PHILADELPHIA 




Class; 
Ronk . 
()opyiiglitN"_ 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



Along the Missouri 



A Western Rural Drama in Four Acts 



BY 

HARRY VAN DEMARK 

Author of "THE RANCHMAN." etc. 




PHILADELPHIA 

THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 

1909 



.^7 



/?.;^7 



Copyright 1909 by The Penn Publishing Company 



ICI.D 1,7626 
T)yPSo-00o6a5 



Along the Missouri 



Along the Missouri 



CAST OF CHARACTERS 



William Watson 

John Watson . 
Norwood Crane 

DusTiN Barnes 
Manders Maffitt 

Rip Stokey 
Katherine Patton 
Virginia Maffitt 
Tillie Watson 



K?iown to his friends as " kind 

old Bill r 

. His son, a budding politiciati. 

Alias Randolph Radbourne, a 

scheming financier . 

Buffeted by fortune. 

A country banker 7vit]i prejudiced 

political and social views. 

Bill' s hired boy. 

The village school-teacher. 

. Manders' daughter. 

BiW s old maid sister. 



Time in Representation : — Three hours. 



ARGUMENT 



John Watson is a rising young lawyer and candidate for 
the legislature. He is engaged to Virginia Maffitt. Her 
father, who has political influence, is defied by John. 
Maffitt holds a mortgage on the Watson farm and threatens 
to foreclose unless Virginia gives John up, and she does so 
to save him and his family from nnhappiness. Maffitt him- 
self is in the power of Norwood Crane, alias Radbourne, a 
criminal adventurer, but John and Dustin Barnes, a reformed 
tramp, oppose and finally expose Crane and save Maffilt. 



SYNOPSIS 



Act I. — Watson Farm. Rip, a funny hired boy. Barnes 
tells his story. Radbourne and John. " I don't know 
what your game is, but I warn you to drop it, right 
now." 



SYNOPSIS 

Act II. — Watson Farm. Radbourne and Maffitt offer to 
help John win the nomination — at a price. John 
scorns the offer. •' You can't bribe me." Barnes 
defies Maffitt. "Might does make right ! " 

Act III. — Watson Farm. The farm to be sold. Maffitt 
bargains with Virginia. " To save their home to the 
Watsons you must give John up." " I will do as you 
ask." Barnes comes back reformed and finds his 
wife, whom Radbourne had estranged. Barnes and 
Radbourne (or Crane). ' ' Killing is too good for 
him." 

Act IV. — The governor's mansion in the capital. A ball 
going on. Radbourne forces Maffitt to give him 
Virginia. Barnes to the rescue. Radbourne is beaten, 
Maffitt repentant and Virginia is restored to John. 



COSTUMES 



"Bill" Watson. Acts I, II, and III, farmer's working 
clothes, high boots, flannel or cotton shirt, etc. Act 
IV, black "best" suit, heavy boots or shoes, black 
necktie. Smooth face or gray beard. 

John Watson. Acts I, II, III, neat business suit. Act 
IV, evening dress. Smooth face. 

Radbourne (or Crane). Acts I, II, and III, well dressed 
in business suit. Act IV, evening dress. Dark mous- 
tache and has mark on right wrist. 

DusTiN Barnes. Acts I and II, ragged suit, old broken 
shoes and hat, etc. (Tramp costume, but not too 
eccentric.) Act III, business suit, not fashionable but 
good. Act IV, evening dress. Unshaven appearance 
in Acts I and II. Smooth face Acts III and IV. 

Manders Maffitt. Acts I, II, III, dark business suit, or 
frock coat. Act IV, evening dress, or frock coat. 
Gray hair, eye-glasses. 

Rip Stokey. Eccentric farmer boy make up and costumes 
in Acts I, II, and III. During Act I changes to a suit 
too small for him. In Act IV has on "store clothes," 
red necktie, and very shiny shoes, cuffs too large for 
him, etc. Very much "dressed up." 

Katherine Patton. Acts I, II, and III, plain black 
or dark dress, or dresses. Hat in Act I. Act IV, 
elaborate and handsome evening gown. 



COSTUMES 

Virginia. Fashionably dressed throughout. Act I, riding 
suit and hat, gloves, whip. Acts II and III, walking 
suit and hat. Act IV, handsome evening gown. 

Aunt Tillie. Gray hair and glasses. Wears plain dress, 
apron and cap in Acts I, II, III, Black dress, lace 
collar, "mitts," gold chain in Act IV. 



PROPERTIES 



Act I. Wood crash for Rip. Water to wet Rip. Stick 
and knife for Bill. Bottle, pie, sandwich, card, for 
Barnes. Riding-whip for Virginia. Cigar for John. 

Act II. Soap, towel, etc., for Bill. Tray of food, dishes, 
etc., for Kate. Letter for Barnes. Musket for Bill. 

Act III. Flag, musket, letter, for Kate. Newspaper for 
Bill. Check-book, check and card for Maffitt. 
Revolver for Barnes. 

Act IV. Bandanna handkerchief for Bill. Check-book, 
fountain pen and slip of paper (receipt) for Barnes. 



SCENE PLOTS 
Acts I and III 



L-ANOSCMPE. OROP 




Scene. — The old Watson Farm near Watsonville, Missouri, 
and landscape drop representing foothills, wood wings r. 
Set house down l., with practical board and winiiovv. 
Fence, with gate, across back. Rustic seats by fence and 

5 



SCENE PLOTS 

down R. Well, with practical wheel or windlass, bucket 
and rope up r. 

Act II 



tV/ZVOOiV 




Scene. — Kitchen of the Watson house. Box set, with 
exterior backing. Cupboard up r. and old-fashioned 
musket lying near or hanging over it. Door L. c, window 
R. c, wash-bench between, with basin, soap and towel, etc. 
Table and chairs down r., doors R. and l., rocking-chair 
down r. 

Act IV 



O 




O TABLE 
O 



Scene. — Executive mansion, Jefferson City. Handsome 
interior, large door c. with portieres, doors L. and R., table 
and chairs down r., sofa down L., interior backing. Other 
furnishings to suit fancy. 

6 



Along the Missouri 



ACT I 

SCENE. — Bill Watson discovered down r., on bench, 
%vhittli7ig. He is whistling at rise, but stops after a 
moment and calls. 

Bill. Rip! {Pause — no answer.^ Oh, Rip Stokey ! 

Rip Stokev (off h.). Well, what d'ye want? 

Bill, You'd better water that old brindle cow. She ain't 
had nothin' to wet her whistle fer so long she won't 
know how it tastes. 

Rip [still off). Gol durn it! Jest when I was tryin' to git 
a wink o' sleep, too. I wish that cow 'd never been 
horned. 

Bill. Well, you do what I tell ye to, an' be tarnation quick 
about it, or I'll tan yer jacket so ye won't know a brin- 
dle cow from a mushroom. 

Rip. Well, I'm goin' — ding, dong, dang it ! But I feel 
like takin' th' durn cow by the tail an' swingin' her into 
th' crick. Cows is alius stickin' their noses into some- 
body's bizness. 

Bill (chuckling). Well, if you kin swing her into the crick, 
I'll stand the loss. ( Wood crash heard suddenly off L.) 
Jimmineezer ! what's he doin' ? 

Rip (still off). Git over there, you big four-legged biped, 
you, afore I smash you one on th' nose. When they 
made you they ought to left your whistle out, an' then 
we wouldn't have to wet it. (Wood crash heard again.) 
Oh, you old she-devil, lemme git at you ! (Cotnmotiofi 
continues. Bill finally starts toward L. U. E., but 
meets Rip coming in, doubled up like a jack-knife, hands 
pressed across stomach, a look of pain on his face.) 
Yer durn old cow's kicked a hole in th' barn an' got 
out — ding her, dang her ! 

7 



ALONG THE 311880 UEI 

Bill {chuckling). I guess that ain't all she kicked, neither ! 

Rip. I don't git no sympathy, no matter what happens. 

Bill. Well, ye ain't hurt, be ye? 

Rip. Lemme kick you in the stomach like that cow did me 
an' see if you've got breath enuff left to ask. 

Bill. Well, it's yer own fault. Ye alius knew she was a 
tricky customer. 

Rip. Bet I'll kill her if it takes a year ! 

Bill. Yes, an' you'll come up about fifty dollars short on 
pay day. 

Rip. What's th' difference? I don't git it nohow ! 

Bill. Now you're fibbin'. Rip Stokey. Didn't I give ye 
ten dollars last Christmas to buy a suit o' clothes, an' 
a pair o' striped socks — an' yet ye dare accuse me o' 
holdin' back yer wages. (^Crosses to L.) Git out o' 
here now, an' don't lemme see ye agin till chore time. 

Rip. If that cow's about th' barn there ain't a-goin' to be 
no chore time. 

Bill. Well, git about yer business, 'fore I tan yer jacket. 

Rip. All right — I'm goin'. 

Bill. An' see 'at yer about when I want ye. 

(Rip shuffles up r., but when he hears Aunt Tillie Wat- 
son's voice as she enters from the house, he stops and 
leans against the tvell curb. Aunt T. has a copy of 
the " IVatsofwille Neivs,'^ her finger pointing at a glar- 
ing headline.') 

Aunt T. ( going to Bill, who has resumed his seat under 
the tree). There ! Didn't I tell ye them Jenkins kids 
'd git into trouble? 

Bill (whittling). Well, what they done now ? 

Aunt T. Got into Gabe Johnson's apple orchard an' tried 
to carry it off. Gabe got th' constable, an' th' boys is 
in jail, where they'd oughter been a year ago. 

Bill. Humph ! I feel downright sorry fer 'em. 

Aunt T, Do you mean to say, Bill Watson, 'at you'd up- 
hold them youngsters in such lawlessness? 

Bill. Well, I ain't sayin' what I'd do. But I ain't fergot 
'at I wuz a boy onct myself. I used to swipe apples by 
th' dozens, an' sneak off frum school an' eat 'em, an' 
then go swimmin' down by th' dam, an' never turn up 
at home till the chores wuz did. {Chuckles.) 

Aunt T. Well, I'd be ashamed to tell it. When I was 

8 



ALONG THE 311880 UBI 

young my ma used to set me on a stool in th' corner 
when I was bad, an' if that didn't bring th' desired re- 
sult, I had an interview in th' wood-shed with pa. 

Bill. Yes, an' you cried so hard 'at your face got all 
screwed up in a knot. It ain't never got unscrewed. 

Rip {laugJiing loudly'). He — he — ha — ha ! That's a good 
one ! 

(Starts cutting up, swings up on the well curb, loses his hold 
and falls in. Splash heard, viiiigled with yells and 
splutters.) 

Aunt T. (rushing to well). Land o' Goshen, if that boy 

ain't gone an' drowned hisself ! 
Bill (following her). Good riddance to bad rubbish, 

say I. 

(Together they peer into the well. Bill one side. Aunt T. 
tlie other.) 

Aunt T. Rip — oh, Rip Stokey ! 

Rip (in well). R-r-r-rruh — blub-blub-blub — o-o-o-o-o ! 

Aunt T. What'd he say. Bill ? 

Bill. Don't ask me — I ain't no linguist. (Bill lowers 
bucket.) Catch hold o' that, ye duvn fool, an' we'll see 
if we kin git ye out o' there. (They finally pull the 
bucket up with RiP clinging to it, and help him over the 
well curb, where he stands, soaking wet, blubbering.) 
Well, you're a nice-lookin' pill ! 

Rip. I a-a-ain't no p-p-p-pill ! Ding, dong, dang it — jest 
my confounded luck ! 

Aunt T. (pushing him). Well, you git into th' house an' 
git on some dry clothes. 

Rip. Boo-hoo I Boo-hoo ! Boo-hoo ! 

(Exits blubbering into house, Aunt T. follotving and push- 
ing him occasionally. Bill looks after them arid chuckles. 
Turns in time to see Virginia AIaffitt, who enters R. 
throiigh gate, a riding-whip in her hand. She is wear- 
ing a large American beauty rose.) 

Virginia. Good-morning, Mr. Watson ! 
Bill. Hello, Virginny — how be ye? (Grasps her hand.) 
Virginia. Feeling fine, thank you. The air is so invig- 
orating. 



ALONG THE MISSOURI 



Bill (^looking around). But wheve's yer boss? 

Virginia. Oh, I left him out there, hitched to a tree. 

Bill {chuckling). Rip took a bath in lli' well, jest now ! 

Virginia. Oh, did lie ? {Dclighled.) 

Bill. Yep — first time he's been near water in a week. 

Virginia. Then it should do him good. Where are Aunt 
Til lie and Kate ? 

Bill. Tillie's in th' house, but Kate ain't come up from 
school yet. (Shades eyes ivith ha7id and gazes off v..) 
Purty near tune she was here, though. (Deep whistle 
off stage.) Yep — there's th' noon whistle at th' fac- 
tory. She'll be along pretty quick now. Sit down on 
th' bench where it's cool, an' I'll tell Tillie ye're here. 

{She sits and he exits into house. As he goes Randolph 
Radbourne enters L. and through gate.) 

Virginia. I wonder where John is. I dare not ask his 

father, for he will think me too — too — well 

{Sees ^kv>.— starts.) Oh— oh— Mr. Radbourne! I 

— I thought for a moment that you were some one else. 
Rad. So I observe, Miss Maffitt, and from the blush which 

mantles your cheek, I should say some one near and 

dear to you. 

Virginia. Why, I — I {Interrupted.) 

Rad. Oh, never mind ! I did not mean to be inquisitive. 

I envy him his good luck, that's all. Do you call often 

at the Watsons' ? 
Virginia. Oh, I run over occasionally when my horse is 

restless and I feel that a good spin will do him good. 
Rad. {smiling). In at least one direction our tastes run in 

the same channel. We both love fine horse-flesh. 
Virginia. I wonder that you are not riding. We have 

plenty of horses in the stable. You are welcome to 

your choice at any time, except my Maribell. 
Rad. I'm sure 1 thank you, but as I am on my way to the 

village to meet your father, I preferred walking. Won't 

you go with me ? 
Virginia. Thank you, but I am waiting for Miss Palton. 
Rad. {ivith a slight start). Patton ? 
Virginia. Yes, the village school-teacher. I had forgotten 

you did not know her. She boards with Mr. Watson 

and his sister. 
Rad. {down r.). Patton! Humph — it can't be ! {This 

lO 



ALONG THE MISSOURI 

is said half aside.') Very well, Miss Maffitt. Good- 
morning " 



Virginia. Good-morning, Mr. Radbourne. {He bows and 
exits through gate ami R. u. E. Virginia starts toward 
tJie Jiouse, but meets John Watson, wJw enters l. u. e., 
above house.) Oh — er — ahem ! Is — is that you, John ? 

{Turns from him, timidly hitting her skirt with her riding- 
7vhip.) 

John. Who does it look like ? 

Virginia. Well, it looks something like a man ! {Laughs.') 

John. I thought I heard voices a moment ago. Who were 

you talking to? {Looks off R.) Oh, I see ! Ah, ha ! 

Who is he ? 
Virginia. Why — why, that is Mr. Radbourne. He is 

staying over at our house. 
John {looking at her keenly). A friend of yours? 
Virginia. VVell — er — not exactly ; say, rather, a friend of 

papa's from London. 
John. London ? 
Virginia. Yes — that is, he was formerly of London. He 

is now interested in Wall Street, and is financing a new 

road they are building to the copper mines. 
John. Then you are not interested in him, personally? 
Virginia. No, but I think he is interested in me. {Laughs.) 
John {smiling also). Well, I can't say that I blame him ; 

and you look especially sweet and pretty this morning. 
Virginia {archly). Do I, John ? 
John. Your cheeks are like roses — far prettier than that 

American beauty on your dress. 
Virginia. Oh, do you like American beauties, John ? 
John. I love one. 
Virginia. Oh, do you? Then I'll see that you have a 

bunch on your desk to-morrow. 
John. One American beauty is enough for me 
Virginia. On — on your desk, John? 
John. Yes, if she will condescend to sit there. 

Virginia. Oh, John, — I — I {Interrupted.) 

John. The American beauty that I have reference to has 

entwined itself about my heart, 
Virginia. How very, very uncomfortable that must be ! 

{Laughs. ) 



ALONG THE 5IISS0UBI 



John, Come, Virginia— be serious. You well know my 
sentiments toward you. I have told them over and 
over again. {Takes her hand, she turning away and 
hanging her head.) Virginia, do you love me ? 

Virginia. Why, John, I — I 

{As she hesitates Bill comes out of the house. Virginia 
sees him, gives vent to a startled " Oh .'" John turns 
and sees him, laughs guiltily. Virginia, laughing, runs 
off back of house, l. u. e., John follozving. When 
Bill sees what he has blundered ifito, he makes a hur- 
ried exit into house, and after a moment sticks his head 
out of the windo7v, peeping slyly around to see if they 
have gone. Enters from house.) 

Bill {as he goes up and peeks around the corner of the 
house). I'll bet that brindle cow agin a nickel with a 
hole in it that John's popped th' question. He's been 
figurin' on it fer some time, but ain't had the courage. 
{Laughs, then grows suddenly sober.) He alius thought 
he warn't good enuff fer her. Good enuff ? "Why, I'd 
like to see th' gal what's good enuff fer my boy John. 
He's good enuff fer — fer — well, he's good enuff, any- 
how. I kinder wish he'd come back. I want to know 
if she said yes. Makes me feel kittenish to think of it. 
{He does a dance step or two, and Rip, who enters 
hurriedly from house, catches one leg while it is in the 
air. Rip has chajiged his wet clothes for a suit of 
^' store'' clothes, much too small.) Durn your skin, 
Rip Stokey, leggo — leggo, I say ! 

Rip. Yes, it's leggo — leg's goin* all right. (/// surprise, 
dropping Bill's leg.) Well, durn laie, is that you, Mr. 
Watson ? 

Bill. Ain't ye got eyes in your head? 

Rip. Gee ! I thought it was th' old brindle cow, an' I 
knew if I could git her with her leg in th' air, I'd sort 
o' have her at a disadvantage. 

Bill. Well, durn my pictur' — no, durn yours ! Took me 
fer a cow, did ye? I'll make mince pie out o' you ! 

{Starts for him, but Rip laughs and rims out r. As Bill 
turns back down c, he runs on again.) 

Rip. Say, Mr. Watson. 

Bill {starting). I thought I told ye to {Interrupted.) 



ALONG THE MISSOURI 



Rip. Ye did, but I forgot to tell ye that th' black heifer's 

fell down an' skinned her eye teeth ! 
Bill. What ? Hey ? Fell down an' — say, look here, 

durn you, that black heifer ain't got no eye teeth ! 
Rip. Guess I must 'a' made a mistake. 

(Shuffles out R., whistling.) 

Bill (Jookuig after him). Some day I'll run a pitchfork 
through his in'nards. 

{Enter Dustin Barnes, r., and through gate.') 

Barnes {iipon seeing Bill). Ahem ! 

Bill. Hello ! you're a nice-lookin' chicken. Who be you, 
anyway ? 

Barnes. Sh ! Let me whisper it ! I'm a nature faker ! 

Bill {chuckling). Or a tramp — which ? 

Barnes. They're both alike — neither loves work. 

Bill. I should say not. What ye doin' around here, any- 
way ? 

Barnes. Sh ! Another secret ! Maybe you think I'm 
looking for a chance to invest my money, but I'm not. 
But, just between you and me and the man in the 
moon, I'd like to dally a few minutes with some grub. 

Bill. Well, I guess ye kin git that, all right, but first tell 
me who you be. 

Barnes {posing). I am the lily of the valley. I toil not, 
neither do I spin, yet Solomon in all his glory was not 
arrayed like one of me. 

Bill. Well, I should say not. 

Barnes. Pardon me, sir. Your use of the English lan- 
guage is what we call unpardonable. You should say 
"nit." 

Bill. Well, what'd ye like to eat, hey ? 

Barnes. Hay? Not on your life! But I might take 
some patty de foy graw. 

Bill. Never heered of it. 

Barnes. It is composed of cheese and rusty nails, with a 
little mustard mixed. 

Bill. I ain't got none of it on my program, but how'd 
some cold meat an' pumpkin pie strike you ? 

Barnes. Like a stick of wood hits a kitchen stove — grate ! 

13 



ALONG THE MISSOURI 

Bill {half aside). Ain't he a queer son of a gun? Just 
you wait here. 

Barnes. I'd never run away with pie in sight. (Bill 
laughs and exits into house.) Now, I like that old 
man — there seems to be a lot of good nature in his 
composition. I believe if he'd offer me the chance, 
I'd go to work. But here — I'm getting serious again. 
{Takes bottle from pocket.) Now, there's the friend 
that makes you forget even your worst enemy. 

(Hears Bill returning and puts bottle in pocket. Bill 
enters from house with tray of food.) 

Bill. Well, here's that pie, an' I've thrown in a ham 
sandwich fer good luck. 

Barnes (taking pie and sandwich off plate). Thanks, 
old man, thanks ! Now, I'll just go down to the 
bank 

Bill. The bank ? What bank ? 

Barnes. The river bank, and draw (Interrupted.) 

Bill. What ye goin' to draw? 

Barnes. My breath ! 

Bill. Ye don't look as if ye'd drawn much else for some 
time. 

Barnes (seriously). Well, to tell the truth, I haven't. 
I've had a downright case of hard luck. 

Bill. I don't doubt it. What made ye a tramp, any- 
way? Everyman has to have a beginnin'. I'm in- 
terested. (Sits on steps.) 

Barnes (seriously, laying food on bench and turning to- 
7vard Bill). What made me a tramp ? What has 
made thousands of other good men tramps ? 

Bill. Don't know. 

Barnes. Misfortune — misfortune and dissipation. 

Bill. Well, you look as though you'd had your share of 
both of 'em. 

Barnes. Hold on, old man, don't judge me till you've 
heard my story. A woman, pard (Interrupted. ) 

Bill. Now, you hold on yourself — ye ain't goin' to blame 
all this on a woman, be ye? 

Barnes. No — I'm not blaming any one but myself and the 
man who came between us. 

Bill. That's right. A woman, ye know, is pretty much 

14 



ALONG THE MISSOURI 



what we make her. We often make her bad, but we 
seldom make her good. But go on with your story, 

Barnes. Six years ago I was full of fire and ambition. I 
fell in love with one of the prettiest creatures God's 
sun ever shone upon. I worshiped her. 

Bill. Did ye marry her ? 

Barnes. Yes, and settled down in the East. For a time 
everything went well, but when property declined in 
value, and I failed in business she grew discontented 
with lier lot. 

Bill. Was her folks good, moral people ? 

Barnes. Yes. They lived in New Orleans. One day she 
came to me and said she wanted to visit them, so I 
scraped together what money I could and sent her to 
New Orleans. For a time I received the most loving 
letters, but one day there came a note — only a little 
piece of scented paper, but the memory of it will never 
be erased from my mind — telling me she had ceased to 
love me and was never coming back. 

Bill. That was a durn shame. 

Barnes. Don't sympathize with me, old man; I had a 
friend in those days who sympathized with my troubles, 
and showed me how to forget them. I did and I for- 
got self-respect, business, everything. One day I woke 
up, and I hadn't a cent. Everything that had ever 
bound me to respectable society had vanished. 

Bill. And your friend — what became of him ? 

Barnes. He, also, went to New Orleans. When I found 
that out I followed, riding, walking, as best I could, 
for I was dead broke. Once there, I learned the bitter 
truth — wife and friend had gone to Chicago together. 
I found some of the letters that passed between them, 
so I have ample proof of her guilt. Well, I went 
West, but the cards I held grew worse and worse, until 
I was almost ready to give up this battle of life. But 
one day something rekindled in my breast a spark of 
the old fire, and I became possessed of a desire to go 
East again. I started two weary months ago, and here 
I am ! 

Bill. An' ye never got any trace of your wife an' friend ? 

Barnes. No, but I will some day, and when I do — well, 
I'll kill him — throttle him as I would a yellow cur — 
and her — and her {^Interrupted.') 

15 



ALONG THE 3IISS0URI 

Bill. Now, hold on— not her ! You wouldn't hurt her, 

would you ? 

Barnes. Yes, I would ; I'd — I'd (^Interrupted.) 

Bill. No, ye wouldn'i; not after ye'd thought it over. 

Maybe she thought she had reasons fer doin' as she 

did. Have ye ever thought of that ? 
Barnes. No. What excuse could a woman have for a 

thing like that ? 
Bill. Don't ye know there's such a thing as th' mind of a 

woman bein' pizened by a villain against those she 

loves ? 
Barnes. Even then I would not forgive her. 
Bill. Well, neither would ye harm a hair of her head. 

Remember that, an' remember another thing 

(Bill rises and going to Barnes lays a hand on his 

arm.) Remember your mother was a woman ! 
Barnes. Well — I know. I'll try and bear those things in 

mind if — if I ever meet her. {Shakes Bill's hand.) 
Bill. When you're down to th' village, call on my son, 

John Watson. He's runnin' fer th' state legislatur'. 

He may be able to help you. He's got right smart in- 
fluence 'round these parts. 
Barnes. Thanks, Mr. Watson — I'll take your advice. 
Bill. An' throw away that bottle I see stickin' out of your 

pocket — it's durn bad to quench thirst with. An' say, 

you haven't told me your name. 
Barnes. Ah, yes, I'd forgotten. I ought to have a card 

about me somewhere. (^Searches.) Yes, here it is. 

i^Gives it.) 

Bill (taking it). I never thought you'd be guilty o' 
carryin' a card. (Reads.) " Dustin Barnes, New 
York." Dustin Barnes, eh? 

Barnes. Yes, Dustin Barnes, at present a dealer in real 
estate. ( Takes a bird's-eye view of himself and 7tnnks.) 
Well, I'm much obliged for the food, old man. See 
you later ! 

{Takes pie fro7n bench and exits L. through gate ^ 

Bill {looking after him). Well, he's about th' queerest 
fish I ever saw, but I reckon, as he says, he's seen 
better days. (Katherine Patton enters from R, 
through gate.) Hello ! School out, Kate ? 
i6 



ALONG THE MISSOURI 

Kate (wearily). Yes, Uncle Bill. 

Bill. Why, what's th' matter, gal — ye look all worn out? 

Kate. It has been a trying morning, Uncle Bill — I'll sit 
here on the bench a few minutes ; I will soon be all 
riglit. i^They botli sit on bench under tree.) 

Bill. I know what's th' matter — you've been whippin' too 
many o' them Dobbins kids. 

Kate. No — no — it's not that. 

Bill. Then what's ailin' ye, Kate? Come — an honest 
confession 's good fer th' soul, they say. There's been 
somethin' on your mind ever since you've been boardin' 
here. Out with it — p'r'aps yer Uncle Bill kin help ye, 

Kate. No — no — I — that is, it is nothing. Just a little 
shadow of the past that is ever flitting before my 
vision. I — I've tried so hard to dispel it, but in 
vain. 

Bill. Tell me what it is, Kate — there's alius a remedy fer 
worry. 

Kate. Yes, I know, but — but it would do no good to tell 
you this. It is something that could not interest you 
in any way. 

Bill. How d'ye know that? 

Kate. Some time perhaps I'll unburden my soul to you, 
but not now, Uncle Bill — not now ! 

Bill. As ye will, Kate ; but remember this — we all gits a 
taste o' th' bitter side o' life, no matter what we do, or 
where we are. So cheer up ; whatever it is, it'll come 
out all right in th' end. 

Kate. Your words give me hope an* cheer. But how is 
it. Uncle Bill, that you seem to understand trouble so 
well — a happy, prosperous farmer like you ? 

Bill. I fergot, Kate, ye didn't know th' old farm was mort- 
gaged to Manders Maffit, Virginny's father. An' th' 
worst of it is, it'll soon be due, an' I don't know how 
I'm goin' to pay it, Kate, particularly as I've got to 
help John git his nomination. 

Aunt T. {in house). Be that you, Kate? Kin ye help 
me with dinner? 

Kate (rising). I'll be right in, Aunt Tillie. 

Aunt 'F. {appearing in door, sleeves rolled up, hands cov- 
ered with flour). Virginny Mafhtt was here lookin' fer 
you a while ago, Kate — that is, she snid she were lookin' 
fer you (^JVinks significantly.) 

17 



ALONG THE SIISSOUEI 

Kate (smiVing). But in reality she was looking for John. 

Oh, I know these little tricks of our sex, Aunt Tillie. 
Aunt T. Like as not — like as not. I wonder if John ain't 

popped th' question ? 
Bill. Well, I reckon if he ain't he's a-goin' to. 
Kate. Virginia will make hiui a good wife. I admire her 

very much. 

(^Enter Rip, r.) 

Rip. Say, Mr. Watson 

Bill {rising in a threatening attitude^. Now, you git out 

o' here ! 
Rip. Guess I must 'a' made a mistake ! 



{Exits, shuffling, R.) 

Bill. That durn boy's th' plague o' my life. 

Aunt T. I reckon he won't never git no sense. 

Kate. Oh, Rip's all right. He hasn't had the advantages 

most boys have. He'll be a smart man some day. 
Aunt T. Well, p'r'aps he will, but th' prospect are 

mighty dubious lookin' to me. 

{Exits into house, Y^ki'E, following.') 

Bill {still on bench'). It kinder gits next to me to see Kate 
lookin' so pale an' thin, jest as if she didn't have no 
more interest in life. Got to do somethin' to pull her 
out o' that, an' durn quick, too. 

{Enter John, l. u. e.) 

John [joyously). Father ! 

Bill. Hello, boy ! ^Vhere's Virginny ? 

John. She went in the back way to tell Kate and Aunt 
Tillie all about it. 

Bill {hoppins; around in great glee). Ye don't mean — ye 
don't mean that she — she {Interrupted.) 

John. That's wliat I do mean. 

Bill. I'm sure tickled ! {Grows suddenly serious.) But 
— but wliat about her father, John? 

John. Hang her father ! I haven't taken him into con- 
sideration. 

Bill. But ye'U have to — don't fergit that. He has high 
ambitions for Virginny. 

i8 



ALONG THE MISSOURI 

John. Yes ; he'd sacrifice her happiness if need be for so- 
cial position, but I'll fool him this time ! 

Bill {proudly). My boy, John ! But say, John, don't 
fergit another thing — old Mafifitt's got a mortgage on 
the farm, an' if ye displease him there's no tellin' what 
he's goin' to do. 

John. 1 am prepared for him. I haven't forgotten what 
he said to me when he first learned that I aspired for 
Virginia's hand. 

Bill. Ye never told me, John. ' 

John. He said I had better get a reputation and money 
enough to support her. 

Bill. Durn his skin ! An' what did ye tell him? 

John. That I would like to have his consent, but that if I 
couldn't get it, I'd manage to get along somehow. 

Bill {chuckling). My boy, John ! But be careful, John 
be careful. 

John. I don't believe he'd dare make us trouble. 

Bill. I'm not so sure about that. Manders Maffitt ain't 
no paragon o' virtue. 

John. I know, father, but you trust this business to me. 
Once I am elected, I will pay off this mortgage, and 
never again will the old place bow its head in shame. 

{Exits i?ito house.) 

Bill {as he goes). I hope so, John — 1 hope so. {Sits on 
bench again. Virginia peeps slyly around the corner 
of the house, L. , and seeing that he is alone, enters and 
tiptoeing up behind hitn, puts her hands quickly over 
his eyes.) Gosh all hemlock — who's that? {Starts to 
get tip, then sinks down again.) It's Virginny, I'll bet 
a nickel ! 

Virginia {releasing him). How did you guess ? 

Bill {taking both her hands and pulling her dotun on the 
bench beside hitn). Because I thought it was about 
time ye was tellin' me about it. 

Virginia {bashfully). Why — why, about what, Mr. Wat- 
son? 

Bill. Oh, come now, that ain't fair. Especially as John 
has jest been here. 

Virginia. Oh, did he tell you ? I thought I might sur- 
prise you. 

Bill. Virginny, you've made us all happy by promisin' to 

19 



ALONG THE MISSOURI 



be John's wife. John's goin' to be a great man some 

day. 
Virginia. I am sure of that. I shall try so hard to make 

him a good wife. Did you bring my horse up, Mr. 

Watson ? (^Rises and looks off R.) 
Bill. Gosh, no — I clean fergot it. 
Virginia. Never mind, then. I'll walk down there in a 

moment. Here come papa and Mr. Radbourne. 
Bill. Radbourne? Radbourne? Lemme see — where 

have I heered that name ? 
Virginia. Oh, it's been in the papers a great deal lately. 

Mr. Radbourne is interested in some mining schemes 

at present, I believe. 
Bill. Oli, yes. Ain't he th' man that's talkin' about 

buildin' a road through Watsonville to th' mines? 
Virginia. Yes, he's the man. I believe papa also is in- 
terested in it, though I don't know very much about 

his business affairs. 
Bill (Jialf aside). H'm ! They ain't comin' up here fer 

no good whatever. 
Virginia. Beg pardon ! 
Bill, Oh, I was jest mumblin' to myself, Virginny. 

(Virginia seats herself on the steps just as Manders Maf- 
FITT atid Rad. e7iter from R., througli gate.) 

Maffitt. What are you doing here, Virginia? 

Virginia. I came over to see Kate. 

Rad. {lifting hat). Ah, still here, I see, Miss Maffitt ? 

Virginia. Yes. 

Maffitt. How do you do, Mr. Watson? Allow me to 

introduce Mr. Radbourne of Jefferson City, formerly 

of Wall Street. 
Bill. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Radbourne. 

{They shake hands. All three stand do7vn r.) 

Rad. {casting his eye about). A pretty place you have 
here, Mr. Watson. 

(John enters from house and talks to Ymcmix on porch.) 
Bill. Well, I calk' late it ain't so bad to look at. 

(Maffitt and Rad. exchange significant glances.) 
Maffitt. Er — Mr. Watson, we — er — we have called to 

20 



ALONG THE MISSOUBI 

see if we cannot interest you in the new railroad to the 
mines. 

Bill. They're goin' to build it, then ? 

Maffitt. Yes, it is an assured fact, thanks to Mr. Rad- 
bourne. 

Bill. H'm, I reckon it'll pass pretty close to my farm, 
won't it? 

Maffitt. There's the rub. That's what we want to see 
you about. It will have to pass through it. Other- 
wise it will cost our corporation large and unnecessary 
expenditures of money. 

Bill. An' what do ye want me to do? 

Maffitt. Why, er — er {^luierrupted.') 

Rad. We thought perhaps, Mr. Watson, you would like to 
take some stock in the road. It is sure to be an excel- 
lent investment fi om the start ; we have had good luck 
in securing a second-hand equipment of rolling stock 
for a very reasonable price. 

Bill. I don't like th' idee of its goin' through my farm. 
The old place has been my home for nigh onto twenty 
years, an' I'm kinder sot agin puttin' a railroad on it. 
Them steam cars make too much noise. 

(^Enter John, from house. He and Virginia are strolling 
slowly toward K., when Rad. observes them.) 

Rad. Going, Miss Maffitt? Won't you allow me to see 

you to your horse ? 
Virginia. Oh, thank you very much, Mr. Radbourne, but 

I have asked Mr. Watson. 

(John and Virginia exeunt R., laughifig and talking.') 

Rad. {an^ri/y). I do not like your daughter's action, Mr. 

Maffitt. ' 
Maffitt. She meant no disrespect, Mr. Radbourne. I 

will speak to her later. (7<? Bill.) I trust you will 

reconsider your decision not to allow the road to run 

through your place, Mr. Watson. 
Bill. Well, I ought to have some time to think it over. 

(John enters r., comes doivn and stands listening 7vith one 
foot on bench tnider the tree, and directly behind the 
trio. ) 

Rad. That is impossible, Mr. Watson, for the reason that 

21 



ALONG THE MISSOURI 

we are all ready to go ahead with the road the minute 

we receive your answer. 
Bill. I don't think I want anything to do with it. 
Maffitt. Then I regret that 1 have bad ne.vs for you. 
Bill. An' what's that ? 
Maffitt. Your mortgage, which falls due one month from 

to-day, cannot be extended. 
Bill. But you said you thought it could. 
Maffitt. I know, but at that time we had a large surplus 

in the treasury ; but since I have undertaken to finance 

a portion of Mr. Radbourne's railroad, I shall need 

every cent I can lay my hands on. 
John {coining do7un l.). My father has never defaulted in 

his interest, Mr. Maffitt. Surely he has the right to 

expect a few months' time. We are willing to raise the 

rate of interest a little. 
Maffitt. Ah, now, we are always glad to hear from our 

young political aspirant on any subject, even though 

we are forced to disagree with him. Ah — pardon me, 

this is my friend, Mr. Radbourne. 
Rad. {extending hand^. How are you, sir? 
John {ignoring hand). Mr. Radbourne and I have met 

before ! 
Rad. {embarrassed ; pause). Ah, why yes, I'd forgotten. 

But — er — let us finish the business in hand. 
John. My father has already answered your question, sir. 

We want to be reasonable, but we do not want a rail- 
road running through our farm. 
Maffitt. Then I fear there is but one alternative. 

Biix. And that is 

Maffitt. Unless you pay off your mortgage of $4,000 by 

the first of next month, I shall be forced to foreclose, 

and dispose of the farm to the highest bidder. 
John. Don't you think that is unfair, Mr. Maffitt ? There 

are other means of gaining your ends than through 

coercion. 
Maffitt. It appears not. 
John. Father, if you will take Mr. Maffitt into the house 

and give him a drink of cider, I will talk this matter 

over with Mr. Radbourne. 
Bill. Certainly, John; but don't let them run the road 

through th' old farm, boy. 
John. Never fear. There is a way around that, 

22 



ALONG THE MISSOURI 

Bill. Come, Mr. Maffitt. 

(Maffitt hesitates, then follows Bill. Exeunt into house. 
John coolly lights a cigar. ~) 

Rad. What is it you wish to say to me? 

John. I want to say first that this raih^oad will never be 
run through the Watson farm unless you buy it out- 
right at a price to be stipulated by my father. 

Rad. And I say it shall, if I have to enlist all Wall Street 
in my behalf. 

John. That's very clever, if it is intended for a joke. 

Rad. What do you mean ? 

John. That you have no more to do with Wall Street 
financially than I. I don't know just what your game 
is, aside from trying to defraud my fatlier, but I'm 
going to warn you to drop this railroad business right 
now, or there will be a committee of one to settle mat- 
ters, and he'll do it in a pretty thorough manner, too. 

Rad. You dare threaten me ? 

John. Yes, I dare that and more. Let me tell you a little 
story. 

Rad. 1 don't want to hear it. 

John. You'll have to hear it ! A few months ago a swin- 
dler pulled off a big deal in St. Louis and escaped with 
a large sum of money. He was afterward identified as 
a fake broker, who made his living by preying on the 
innocent. He has never been arrested, though the 
police have searched high and low for him. The only 
clue they have is a tattoo mark on the stranger's right 
wrist representing an American eagle. 

Rad. {Jiaughtily). What has all this to do with me ? 

John {coming nearer). Not much, maybe. I haven't all 
the proof I need yet. But the man I'm after has a 
tattoo mark — an American eagle on his right wrist 

(John suddenly grasps Rad.'s right arm and pushes vp 
sleeve. ) 

Rad. What do you mean by that ? 

( Covers wrist hastily with left hand. ) 

John. Too late 1 {Points to Rad.'s ar?n.) You know 
well enough what I mean — Mr. Norwood Crane ! 

CURTAIN 
23 



ACT II 

SCENE. — Kitchen of the Watson house. Boxed set, with 
exterior backing. Cupboard up R. with old fashioned 
musket lying near or hanging over it. Door L. c* 
Window k. C. Wash-bench between, with basin, soap, 
toiuel, etc. Table and chairs doivn R. Doors R. atid 
L. Rocker down R. 

(Kate discovered at table, crying softly. Bill washing at 
bench. Quartet heard in distance singing ^^ Home, 
Sweet Home.''^ 

Bill {waving hand out of windoiv'). Fine, boys — good- 
night. Come over agin some o' these times. {Turns, 
comes slowly down, sees Kate.) Why, what's th' 
matter, Kate? You're cryin'. 

{Lays hand 071 her shoulder.^ 

Kate {looking up). I — I was thinking of home, Uncle 
Bill. Perhaps it was the song. 

Bill. Kate, there's a heap o' sentiment in that old song. 
Home is sweet, ain't it? 

Kate. Yes, Uncle Bill — for those who have one. 

Bill. Now, looky here ! What you talkin' about, any- 
way? You've got money in bank, and as long as I've 
got a roof over my head, it's as much yours as it is 
mine, and you know it. 

Kate. I do know it, and — and — thank you so much. 
{Looks around.) John hasn't come yet, Uncle Bill? 

Bill. Nope — he ain't come up from the office yet. 

Kate. He's late all the time now. I wonder what de- 
tains him? 

Bill. Polytics, gal — polytics. 

Kate. John is a man with an ambition and he does not 
mind work. 

Bill. I should say not. Ah, Kate, but I'm proud o' that 

boy. Six an' twenty year ago when John's mother 

died, I felt I couldn't live till th' next Christmas. 

She were a good woman, Kate — a good woman. I re- 

24 



ALONG THE MISSOURI 

member when she called me to her bedside, an' placin' 
a thin, wasted arm about my neck, says: "Bill, I'm 
goin' on a long journey, an' soon our little boy'U be 
left without a mother. Watch over him, Bill, for my 
sake, an' bring him up like a good boy should be 
brought up." Then I saw th' light fade from her eyes. 
Th' harvest was over fer me, an' the winter had come. 

(^Business of being affected and trying not to show it.) 

Kate. It was very sad, Uncle Bill. 

Bill. John were a wee baby, then, with curly golden hair 
an' eyes as blue as th' skies. It almost broke my heart 
to hear him callin' fer his mammy. An' I couldn't tell 
him where she'd gone, because he warn't old enuff to 
understand. Kate, that boy is th' last memory I've 
got of th' old love. That's why I'm so proud of him. 
Why, I'm as proud of that boy as an old duck is of her 
ducklin's. 

Kate. Why, everybody's proud of him, or else he'd never 
have received his nomination. He is sure to be 
elected. 

Bill. Well, yes, if we kin raise th' assessment rnoney. 

Kate. Assessment money ? 

Bill. You see th' nomination ain't clinched yet. Afore 
he kin git it he's got to raise some money fer — fer th' 
polyticians. That's vviiat tiiey call assessment money. 
John's is a thousand dollars. 

(^Looks slyly at her out of the corner of his eye, to see if 
she suspects anything.) 

Kate. Why, they don't buy votes, do they, Uncle Bill ? 
Bill. Er — no — I reckon not — it's fer halls, an' bands, an' 

barbycues, an' sich things as that. But I reckon we'll 

git it somehow — in fact, I'm sort o' in hopes we'll git 

it to-night. 
Kate. From whom ? 
Bill {looking around cautiously). Ye w^on't tell John, 

will ye ? 
Kate. Why no — certainly not, if you don't want me to. 
Bill. Well, I think I've arranged to git it frum Manders 

Mafifitt. I'm expectin' him over some time this evenin'. 
Kate. Do you think John would aporove of that. Uncle 

Bill ? 

25 



ALONG THE MISSOURI 

Bill. Well, now, I dunno — I dicla't ask him. What's 

more, I ain't a-goin' to. 
Kate. Well, you know what's rij^ht, Uncle Bill. 
Bill. Yes, I s'pose I do, Kaie. I must 'tend to th* 

critters afore Manders gits here. He may bring that 

friend o' his with him. 
Kate. Friend ? What friend ? 
Bill. Randolph Radbourne. 
Kate. I do not know him. 
Bill. Well, ye ain't missed much. P'r'aps he ain't such a 

bad sort fer all that. He's kinder sweet on Virginny 

Maffitt, though. Guess he's expectin' to marry her, 

maybe. But John'U fool him there, all right. Don't 

wake Tillie, Kate ; she's asleep on th' parlor sofy. 

She's a reg'lar spitfire when she comes out of a sound 

sleep. 
Kate. I'll not wake her. 
Bill Q/p to door, l. c). Guess that Rip Stokey must 'a' 

gone to sleep with his boots on som'eres. (Rip's 

whistle is heard off r.) No, by cracky, there he is 

now ! 
Rip {sticking head in open windoui). Say, Mister Watson ! 
Bill. So ye've come out o' yer shell, have ye? Where 

you been? 
Rip {grinning). Swimmin' in th' creek. 
Bill. What, in workin' hours? Don't ye know them 

chores ain't done yet ? 
Rip. Well, I'm goin' to do 'em, all right. I jest wanted 

to tell you about that bay mule {Interrupted.^ 

Bill. We ain't got no bay mule, darn you ! {Picks up a 

bootjack and flings it at him.) Now, git out of here. 
Rip {dodges, ajid boo/Jack flies over his head through the 

window). Haw — haw — haw ! 

{Dodges up and down, ad lib., as Bill makes threatening 
motions at him. Finally laughs, whistles, and dis- 
appears to v..) 

Bill. Kate, I could kill that durn boy without hurtin' my 
conscience a little bit. 

(Kate laughs. Bill exits, l. c, mumbling to himself.) 

Kate. Between Rip and .^unt Tillie, Uncle Bill has rather 

26 



ALONG THE 3IISS0UB1 

an aggravating time. (^Enier Aunt T.,from r.) Oh, 
so you've woke up? (^Lays sewing aside.') 

Aunt T. Well, who wouldn't 'a' woke up with all that 
noise ? 

Kate, That was only Uncle Bill and Rip. 

Aunt T. I could have guessed as much. You'd better 
stop sewin' o' nights, Kate. You'll ruin your eyesight. 

Kate. I've laid it aside. 

Aunt T. Where's Bill ? 

Kate. He went out to the barn. 

Aunt T. (at window). My, what a bee-uty-ful night. 
That south breeze is enuff to make you rise right up 
an' snort. I've a good notion to go over to Jenkinses 
an' set a spell. 

Kate. Why don't you? 

Aunt T. I will if you won't be lonesome, 

Kate. I'll be all right. John will soon be up from the 
office. 

Aunt T. You know them Jenkins kids went an' got 
arrested fer stealin' apples. They say their trial comes 
up to-morrow, I'm goin' to find out about it. There's 
plenty o' cold vittles in th' cupboard fer John. I'm 
goin' out th' front way, 

(^Exit L.) 

Kate (^picking up her sewing, starting to work, then laying 
it aside). No; I promised Aunt Tillie I wouldn't. 
What a good old soul she is. She's been almost a 
mother to me. {Knock at L. c. D.) I wonder if 
that's Mr. Manders ? Come in. {Enter Rad. 
quickly.) My God ! You ? 

Rad. {laying hat and cane on table). Yes, I just learned a 
few moments ago that the Miss Patton I once knew was 
teaching school in Watsonville. 

Kate. What do you want with me, Norwood Crane ? 

Rad. Sh I don't mention that name here. I am known in 
Watsonville as Randolph Radbourne. 

Kate. What do you want? 

Rad. I'll come to that presently. Meanwhile 

{Interrupted.) 

Kate. Don't try to evade the issue. Mr. Watson may re- 
turn at any moment and find me here with you. 
27 



ALONG THE MISSOURI 



Rad. I don't care. 

Kate. No ; but I do. 

Rad. {laughing). Still the same old Kate — a trifle paler, 
but just as beautiful. 

Kate. Cease your compliments, and don't forget 1 am a 
woman now — not a foolish, trusting girl. 

Rad. I forget nothing. 

Kate. Tell me what you want? 

Rad. Your silence, of course — what else ? 

Kate. Oh, you were afraid I would discover your where- 
abouts and tell Mr. Manders who and what you are ? 

Rad. I admit it. 

Kate. And you've changed your name? I suppose Nor- 
wood Crane wasn't high-sounding enough to meet Vir- 
ginia Maffilt's ear. 

Rad. Oh, that hussy? When I get a slice of her coin, I'm 
going to drop her. 

Kate. You're going to drop her from this moment, or I will 
expose you. 

Rad. You won't dare. 

Kate. Try me. I'm a desperate woman. I was living 
here in peace and comfort until you intruded. 

Rad. Then it's to be war? 

Kate. Yes, war to the knife ! 

Rad. (/.'/ to her'). Let me tell you something. If you ever 
breathe a word of ray past to any one, I'll hound you 
out of here and ruin you. 

Kate. It is only what I expected of you. 

Rad. Come, be reasonable. If you tell Mr. Manders our 
affairs, they will soon be noised about ihe community, 
and you will be the one to suffer — not I. Who would 
be the first to point the finger of scorn at you, once 
your secret was known ? Why, Virginia Maffitt, and 
Bill Watson's own sister. Do you think you could re- 
main longer in this house ? No — no ; they would sneer 
at you and avoid you. AVhy, they would act as though 
your very touch contaminated them. 

Kate. Oh, to think I must still be in the power of a man 
like you ! 

Rad. Will you be silent ? 

Kate. I suppose I have no alternative. But you must let 
me alone. The very sight of you drives me almost to 
desperation. 

28 



ALONG THE MISSOURI 

Rad. I will promise not to bother you as long as you keep 
your word with me. 

{Enter Bill, l. c. d.) 

Bill. Why, good-evenin', Mr, Radbourne. 

(Kate drops in chair down r. Rad. turns and extends 
hand to Bill, who takes it.) 

Rad. How are you ? I called on a matter of business. 
Bill. I see you've become acquainted with Miss Patton. 
Rad. Why, yes, I have just discovered that we went to 

school together. Er — we have been having a rather 

interesting discussion on — er — well, I might say on 

morals. 
Bill. Well, I guess whatever Kate says is about right, Mr. 

Radbourne. She's got a fine eddycation. 
Kate. I — I am not feeling well, Uncle Bill. I'll ask you 

to excuse me. 

(Rad., smiling, bows.) 

Bill. You've been sewin' too much o' nights, Kate. 

You'll be all right in th' mornin'. Good-night. 
Kate. Good-night. If you need anything, call me. 
Bill. All right, Kate — all right. {She exits slowly, L.) 
Rad. Do you know, after considering the matter, I have 

decided to take your mortgage off Mr. Mafiitt's hands. 
Bill. You have? Well, how's that goin' to benefit me? 

{Suspiciously. ) 

Rad. It will benefit you in this way. As matters stand at 
present, Mr. Maffitt feels that he will have to foreclose 
to meet some necessary obligations, unless the mortgage 
is taken up before its expiration. Now, I will buy the 
mortgage from him, and without increasing the rate of 
interest, will extend it five years. 

Bill. H'm. That'll be mighty nice. 

Rad. Well, I feel that it's a pretty generous offer, Mr. 
Watson. But I have taken a liking to you, and when 
I like a man, there is no limit to my generosity, 

{Enter John, l. c. d.) 

Bill. Ah, John — I'm glad you've come. 

29 



T 

ALONG TEE MlSSOUMI 

John (/o Rad.). Good-evening, sir. 

Rad. Good-evening, Mr. Watson. 

Bill. Mr. Radbourne wants to buy our mortgage, John, 
and without raisin' th' interest at all, extend it for five 
years. 

John. And what does he ask in return for this favor ? 

Bill. He ain't asked nothing yet. 

Rad. (rising; faces them). No; I have asked nothing, as 
yet, in return for this favor, nor is it my intention to do 
so, except in a very small way. (John and his father 
exchange significant glances.) You, Mr. Watson {tiirn- 
tfig to John), can render me a great service with little 
exertion on your part. 

John. What is it you wish me to do ? 

Rad. You are a young man and a sensible one. You have 
gone into politics with an earnestness and fervor which 
will land you on top eventually. 

John. I hope so. 

Rad. At the next session of the legislature I understand 
war will be waged on the railroad and mining compa- 
nies of this state. 

John. So I understand. 

Rad. I want your pledge, Mr. Watson, that you will do 
everything possible to defeat any measure which I do 
not consider beneficial to these interests. 

John. But suppose in doing so, I should go against my 
convictions ? 

Rad. That is your lookout. 

John. You can't be serious. 

Rad. I am serious — decidedly so. This will be a very 
easy matter for you to manage, and I shall be getting 
— er — shall we say value received for extending the 
mortgage ? 

John. Mr. Radbourne, you have come to the wrong man. 
The people of this vicinity want somebody to fight the 
corporations which are trampling them underfoot. 
They are electing me to do that very thing. The name 
of Watson has never been sullied by a stain of dishonor, 
and as long as I live, please God, it never shall be ! 

Bill {chickling). My boy, John ! 

Rad. This sentiment is very pretty, sir, but it won't buy 
your election. 

John. You hound ! 

30 



ALONG THE 3IISS0URI 

{Starts for him, but 'Saia. gets between them.') 

Bill. John, boy, wail! {To Rad.) When you come 
over here, Mr. Radbourne, I supposed you come as an 
honorable man ; but I see I was mistaken, an' if you 
can't act more bke a gentleman than you've been 
a-doin', you'd better get your hat an' go before I turn 
John loose. 

Rad. You may as well be cool about this. I am only 
speaking the plain truth, and if it hurts I can't help it. 
I have tried to do you both a service. You have seen 
fit to reject my proposals, so I have only one thing to 
say. I control every newspaper of any consequence in 
this precinct, and you know the power of the press. 

John. You cur ! [Starts. Bill gets between again.) 

Bill. Not yet, John — not yet. Let's have peace as long 
as we kin. {To Rad.) You mean if he don't accept 
this infamous proposal, you'll use your power to defeat 
him at th' polls, eh ? 

Rad. That's just about the size of it. 

Bill. Well, we don't want none of it in ours. 

Rad. Then we are losing time. You'll be sorry for this. 
Such deals are made every day by politicians. 

John. There are many dishonest men in politics, but you'll 
find that I am not one of them. 

Bill. My boy ain't no Judas. 

Rad. Judas Iscariot was a politician of olden times, yet he 
sold himself for gold. 

Bill {releasing John). At him, boy — he's overstepped th* 
mark ! (John springs forward and, grasping Rad. 
by the throat, forces him back over table.) Don't 
strangle him too hard, John. 

John. He and his kind have been strangling us for years ! 

{He pulls Rad. to his feet, tvhirls him around toward the 
centre of the room, releases him, at the same time strik- 
ing out straight from the shoulder. ^KQ. falls. John 
stands panting, hands clenched.) 

Bill. I guess you've done fer him. 
John. I didn't mean to hit him so hard. 

(Rad. groans, and stags^ers sloivly to his feet.) 

Rad. I — I'll remember this, John Watson. 

31 



ALONG THE MlStiOURI 



Bill. Yes, I guess you will. 

John (^pointins; to door, l. c). Go, before J forget myself 
again ! You will know what to exi ec.t if you ever set 
foot on this place again, Norwood Crane. 

(John exits (juickly, l.) 

Rad. You seem to have the upper hand to night, but let 
me tell you that in the long run money is mightier than 
muscle. 

Bill (^gettitig Rad.'s hat and cane off table and thrusting 
them in his hands^. John showed you ih' way to th' 
door, Mr. Radbourne, or Crane, or whatever your 
name is. I guess you'd better take his advice. 

Rad. (at door'). You have not heard the last of this. 
Good-night. 

{Exits, l. c. d.) 

Bill [looking after hint). Good-night, ye durn muskrat. 

( Comes slowly down to table ajid sinks into chair, appar- 
ently lost in thought. ) 

(^Etiter Rip and Aunt T., l. c. d.) 

Aunt T. Land o* Goshen ! Looks to me like there's a 
storm brevvin'. I run every step o' th' way fruui 
Jenkinses, so's I wouldn't git wet. It come up awful 
sudden like. A little while ago there wasn't a cloud 
in th* sky. 

(Rip zv ashes at bench.) 

Rip. Say, Mister Watson. 

Bill. Well, what d'you want? 

Rip. You know th' old brindle cow ? 

Bill (rising threateningly). Now, looky here — don't you 

go no further. I've had enuff o' your foolishness. 

Rip. But (Interrupted.) 

Bill. You shut up or you'll lose your job. 

Rip. All right — guess 1 must 'a' made a mistake. 

Bill. If there ever was nary time when ye didn't make 

one, I ain't been around. 

(Rip, drying his face on a towel, grins.) 

Aunt T. Where's Kate? 

32 



ALONG THE 3IISS0UBI 

Bii.L. She went to her room a while ago — said she wasn't 

fteliii' exactly rigiit, but told me to call her if I needed 

anything. 
Aunt T. I suppose she's in bed by now. 
Bill. No, I guess not — more likely a-studyin'. There jest 

ain't no let up to her work. I never seen such a gal 

before, Tillie. 
Aunt T. Well, I'm sleepy, so I guess I'll go to bed. 

Where's John ? 
Bill. He come in an' went out agin. 
Aunt T. On more business, I s'pose ? 
Bill. Yes, bad business. 
Aunt T. Well, good-night. 
Bill. Ain't you goin' to wait fer th' Maffitts? 
Aunt T. Be they comin' over here ? 
Bill. Sure they be. At least, they said so. 
Aunt T. No, I won't wait. I don't fancy 'em, nohow. 

Good-night I 
Bill. Good-night ! 

(^S/ie exits f l. u. e.) 

Rip. Say, Mister Watson. 

Bill [glaring at hiiti). What'd I tell you? Hand me 

that old musket off'n th' cupboard. 
Rip. Sure. {Gets it.) Say, Mister Watson. 
Bill [pointing musket at him). Now, you git out o' here ! 
Rip. You bet ! Guess 1 must 'a' made a mistake. 

[Comic exit, l. c. d.) 

Bill. That durn boy giis foolisher every day. Don't know 
what I'm goin' t' do with him. [Sits again.') 

[Enter John, l.) 

John. Has he gone ? 

Bill. Yes, an' I reckon we're goners, too. 

John, Don't talk that way. We'll find some way to cir- 
cumvent this scheming scoundrel. You don't blame 
me for what I did ? 

Bill. Blame you? [Pats him on the back.) No, boy — 
I'm proud on you fer it. Th' only thing I fear is th' 
influence that rascal will use with Manders Mafifitt. 

John. We'll find a way around that, too. 



ALONG THE MliSSOUBI 

Bill {sJiaking head dubiotisly). I dunno, John, whether we 
kin or not. 

John. Do you re:!iembcr the story you used to tell me 
when I was a boy? It was called "Have Courage." 
1 think that would apply in your case now. 

Bill. Yes, I reuieuibur ii, Julm, an' your old dad'll take a 
brace on himself. 1 didn't mean what I said. We'll 
find a way around everything. {Holds musket out.) 
There's ih' old musket, boy, that was carried by your 
mammy's granddaddy at Lexington an' Bunker Hill, 
an' if our liberties are become a thing of th' past, your 
dad kin shoulder it yet, fer th' spirit o' '76 runs in his 
blood, too. 

{Turns back to door, gun pointing over his shoulder.) 

John. That's the spirit we need to-day, father, with the 
financial interests allied against us. 

{At this moment Barnes enters, l. c. d., sees gun pointing 
in his direction, makes comic exit, looks iti window.) 

Barnes. Don't shoot, old man — don't shoot ! 

Bill {turning, sees him, laughs). Hello, is it you ? Don't 

be afraid. I never shot at a scarecrow in my life. 

Come in. 
Barnes. Your invitation is cheerfully accepted. 

{Enters, l. c. d.) 

Bill. Shake hands with my son, John Watson, 

John {as they shake). I am pleased to know you, sir. 
I'm sorry I was absent from my office when you called, 
Mr. Barnes, but we politicians are kept pretty busy 
nowadays. 

Barnes. Oh, I can appreciate your position, young man. 
I was a politician once myself, but I was too respect- 
able for my friends and they froze me out. It's a bad 
game. 

John. Yes, that's true, but there must be some one to 
take the reins in hand and steer for the straight and 
narrow path. 

Bill. Wliy didn't you call agin, when you found John was 
out? 

Barnes {embarrassed). Well, you see, I couldn't very 
well. I got three days free board in a town near here. 

34 



ALONG THE MISSOURI 

Bill. Got arrested, eh ? 

Barnes. Yes, I'm ashamed to confess it, old man, but I 

did. 
John. Why don't you sober up for good, Barnes, and 

show the world that no blow is hard enough to knock 

you out, and earn again the esteem and respect of your 

fellow men ? 
Barnes. Don't you think it's gone too far for that ? 
John. It's never too far, if a man is a man. My father 

has told me some of your unfortunate story, and you 

have my deepest sympathy. 
Barnes {slowly). Thank you. Sympathy's fine 

{Pauses.) 
John. I know what you're thinking — ;that sympathy isn't 

all a man needs. See here — we're interested in you 

and we want to help you. If we find work for you, 

and stand back of you till you are on your feet — will 

you try hard to make a man of yourself? Come, what 

do you say ? (^Holds out hand. ) 
Barnes {taking hand'). You just bet I will. Thank you. 

You've given me new courage. 
Bill. Well, that's fine. And now, have you had supper? 
Barnes. Will you kindly repeat that word? It's been so 

long since 1 heard it, I thought they'd dropped it out 

of the English language. 
Bill. Well, I'll bet ye ain't had any. 
Barnes. Correct you are ! Nor dinner nor breakfast, 

neither. 
Bill. Well, I can't see a man starve. ( Calls.) Kate ! 
Kate {off \..). Yes, Uncle Bill. 
Bill. Here's a neighbor o' mine come in late. Kin ye git 

him a little cold lunch? 
Kate. Why, yes — I'll bring it right out. 

(John and Barnes have seated theniselves, one on either side 
of the table, Barnes to extreme r.) 

John. Have you tried to secure work in this vicinity, 

Barnes ? 
Barnes. Yes, I asked Manders Maffitt for a job just before 

they sent me to jail. 
Bill. Well, I'll bet ye didn't get it. 
Barnes. You could bet a fortune on that with perfect 

35 



ALONG THE 3IISS0URI 

safety. He threatened to have me arrested, but I'll 
be even with him yet. You watch me ! 

{There is a knock, l. c. d. John <i«/f Barnes do not hear 
it. Bill goes to the door and opens it.) 

(^Etiter Maffitt rt«^ Virginia.) 

John. I am surprised to hear of such an action, Barnes. 

I have always considered Mr. Maffitt a very charitable 

person. He gave a thousand dollars to the church last 

week. 
Maffitt (coming down). Thank you, John. Those words 

are appreciated. 
John (rising). Ah, Mr. Maffitt, I did not see you. 

Good-evening, Virginia. 

(She crosses to him ; they talk.) 

Maffitt. I hardly expected to hear such kind words from 

your son, Mr. Watson. 
Bill. And why not ? 
Maffitt. Well, I — er — I didn't know but this mortgage 

question had prejudiced him against me. 
Bill. John ain't th' boy to hold no petty spite agin any 

one, Mr. Maffitt. 
Maffitt. 1 am glad to hear that. 

(Kate enters l. tvith tray of food. The others are up 
stage and do ?iot see her. Kate crosses to table where 
Barnes sits apparently lost in thought, puts tray 
down, sees Barnes, starts violently, and tiptoes softly 
back to door, l. Just as she exits, Barnes turns and 
sees her ; springs up excitedly. ) 

Barnes. Good Heavens ! Who was that woman ? 

John (turfiing quickly). What woman ? 

Barnks. That woman who was standing there 

(Points.) 
John. I see no woman. 

(He exchanges significant glances with his father.^ 

Bill Poor fellow — I guess he's got 'em. 

Barnes. Why, I tell you I saw her ! She was standing 

36 



ALUjSU the MliStiOUlil 



right by that door a moment ago. Who is she ? Who 

is she ? 
John. Come, come, old man ; you're simply mistaken. 

There was no woman there. 
Barnes {iifter looking at him a moment). Well, maybe 

not — maybe not. {Hand to head.') How my head 

throbs ! And I'm shaking in every nerve. 
John. Why, there's a tray of food on the table. Sit down 

and eat, Barnes. 

{Leads him gently to table, where Barnes sits, dazedly.) 

Maffitt {to Bill). Mr. Watson, why don't you kick that 
fellow out? 

Bill. Because th' man's hungry, Maffitt. I've never 
turned a hungry man from my door, ah' I never will. 

Maffitt. There might be some excuse if he was a willing 
worker. 

John. There are times, Mr. Maffitt, when a man can get 
no work ; when all the world looks down upon him 
and every man is ready to kick him while he's down. 

Maffitt. There is work for every one, if he will but look 
for it. 

John. If there were work for every one, we would not be 
bothered with the question of the unemployed. 

Bill {chuckling). My boy, John ! 

Virginia {approaching Barnes). You have my sympathy, 
sir, and if you will come over to my father's house in 
the morning, I will try and find something for you 
to do. 

Barnes. Thank you, miss, but your father ordered me away 
pretty forcibly the last time I called there. 

Virginia. Oh, sir — I'm sure he {Interrupted.) 

Maffitt. Virginia, you forget yourself. Do you think I 
want you talking to the scum of the earth ? {Turns 
to Barnes, shaking cane.) As for you, sir, I'll settle 
with you later. 

Barnes. Yes, and I'll settle with you. 

Bill. Come, Mr. Maffitt — Barnes is eatin' at my table, an' 
while lie is here, I'll thank you to be respectful. 

Maffitt. Such men as this are a menace to the com- 
munity. Why, I'll warrant he is not even a citizen of 
the United States. I wouldn't have such a dangerous 
looking character hanging around my premises. 1 

37 



ALONG THE MISSOURI 

would set the dogs on him. But to change the subject 
to a more pleasant topic, I may say, Mr. Watson, that 
I have every reason to believe that your son will repre- 
sent us at the next session of the legislature. 
Bill. Well, I'm glad you take so much interest in his 
nomination. 

(Barnes is still eating. John and Virginia talking 
up L. c.) 

Maffitt. I have always taken a great interest in John. 

John {turning). I beg pardon ! 

Maffitt. I was saying, John, that I believe firmly you 
will be our next state senator. At a meeting of the 
bank directors to-day it was unanimously agreed that 
you were the man to represent the conservative business 
interests of the community. In this case your assess- 
ment must be quite a considerable drain upon your 
resources, so if you will allow us to advance the amount, 
why, we sliall take pleasure {Interrupted.') 

John. Tiiank you, Mr. Maffitt. Let me ask you a ques- 
tion — who represents these conservative business in- 
terests you mention ? 

Maffitt. Why, a majority of the respectable business men 
of Watsonville. 

Bill. Oh, you're wrong there. Ain't he, John? 

John. Yes, for behind the conservative business interests 
are Wall Street and other big financial centers of the 
East. 

Bill. Yes, an' any sane man kin see 'at when th' head 
nods in Wall Street, th' tail wiggle-waggles in Missoury. 

Maffitt. I can't see it that way. 

John. I didn't expect you to admit the truth of my asser- 
tion. You are more diplomatic than your friend, 
Crane. 

Maffitt. Crane? Why — er — do you mean my friend, 
Rad bourne ? 

John. Pardon me, when I knew him before lie was called 
Crane — Norwood Crane. 

Barnes {starting up quickly). Norwood Crane ! Did you 
say " Norwood Crane " ? 

{Comes arou7id end of fable and faces John.) 
38 



ALONG THE MISSOURI 

John {surprised). Why, yes. 
Barnes. And do you know him ? 

John. I have only the sHghttst acquaintance with the 
gentleman. Mr. Maffitt, however, can give you any 
information you desire. Crane is known in these parts 
as Randolph Radbourne. 
B.-VRNES {to Maffitt). Oh, so you know him, do you? 
Maffitt {hartghtily). He is ray friend and guest. 
Barnes. Oh, so he's your guest ? He eats at your table, 

does he? Do you know what he is? 
Maffitt. I know you are crazy. 

Barnes. I was never saner in all my life. If you knew of 
what this man is capable, you would drive him from 
your house — aye, your town — in disgrace. 
John. Explain your words, Barnes. 

Barnes. I will. Norwood Crane, or Randolph Radbourne, 
as you know him here, is the man who robbed me of 
my vvife — the man who, as my dearest friend, crossed 
the threshold of an honest home, and, like the serpent 
he was, stung the hand that fed him ! 
John. Your proofs, man — your proofs ! 
Barnes. Here in my pocket ! {Hands a letter to John.) 
There is one of the letters that passed between them. 
Look at it. It tells the whole story. For six years the 
one absorbing passion of my life has been to meet this 
man face toface, and now that he is here within my 
grasp, he shall suffer some of the agony that I have suf- 
fered since he robbed me of all I held dear. 
Maffitt {coldly). I don't believe a word of it. Mr. Rad- 
bourne is a gentleman, and you are {conteinptuovsly) a 
tramp. Wiio will take your word against his ? 
Barnes {bitterly). Yes, I am down. I admit it. And 
that fact gives you and your scoundrelly friend a terri- 
ble advantage over me. But though you are rich and 
I am poor, you are not my master — nor shall you be ! 
Maffitt. You poor fool — might makes right ! 
Barnes. Might makes right, does it? Then we'll fight it 
out on that line. When fathers grow desperate because 
of the low wages you pay them, and break into your 
banks to get money to sustain their families, you call 
out your militia and shoot them down like dogs. Why ? 
Because might makes right ! Norwood Crane stole my 
wife, and I'm going to kill him ; and I'm going free, 

39 



ALONG THE MISISOUBI 



for according to your own words, the law of nature — 
the unwritten law — stands between us ! Might does 
make riglit ! 

{Dramatic pose by Barnes, c. Bill and Maffitt dotvn 
R., Virginia behind them. John dow7i l.) 



CURTAIN 



40 



ACT III 

SCENE. — Same as Act I. ^^ Star Spangled Banner^'' for 
rise. 

(V^KT^ discovered siftitig on bench, L. , 7urapping an American 
flag around the old musket. Bill enters from house at 
rise.') 

Bill. Ah, Kate — decoratiii' th' spirit o' '76, eh? 

Kate. Yes, Uncle Bill. To-morrow's the Fourth, and we 
must celebrate, even though it be only in a small way. 

Bill. You're right, gal, to-morrer is th' Fourth — th' day 
when my old home is to be sold — th' home where my 
boy wuz born an' my dear wife breathed her last. 
(Sighs.) Well, I reckon whoever buys it in'U let m.e 
rent it, an' then I'll be a tenant on my own property. 

(Enter John, quickly, l. u. e.) 

John. Father ! Kate ! JVIy assessment has been paid. 

Bill. You don't say so? 

Kate. Why, John, I'm so glad. 

John. I don't know who paid it — it's a mystery to me. 

Bill. Well, it wasn't Manders Maffiit, that's a cinch ! 

John. No, it was not he. 

Bill. Did any one else know about it? 

John. Yes ; Virginia, but she does not understand such 
things. 

Kate. Ah, a woman's intuition, John, is responsible for 
many things. 

John. If she has done it, I cannot allow it — I won't ! 

Bill. Now, don't jump at conclusions. Is that feller, 
Raiibourne, in town yet? 

John. Yes, he's still here, waiting. I suppose he wants 
to see who buys in the farm to-morrow. Since the ex- 
tension of the mortgage was refused, I am sure it was 
he who forced Maffitt to foreclose. 

Bill. I thought so, John — that skunk means mischief, take 
my word for it. Keep your eye on him, boy — keep 
your eye on him. 

4^ 



ALONG THE MISSOURI 

(^Exits into house.') 

John. Kate, I hope you are feeling better to-day, 

K.ATE. Well, I'm not feeling very well, John. 

John. No — you have not been yourself since the night we 

sent Dustin Barnes to the saniiariuni. 
Kate {starting up). Then you guessed my secret? 
John. Yes, I realized almost from the first that you were the 

unfortunate woman who figured in the story of Barnes' 

life. {She starts to go.) Wait a moment, Kate. 

Don't think I mean to blame you. I did not mean it 

that way. We all make mistakes, and you may be sure 

that your secret is safe with me. 
Kate. Oh, yes, 1 know, I know — but I realize that you 

can never look upon me in the future as you have in 

the past. 
John. Again you mistake me. I think even more of you, 

Kate, for your noble effort to live down the folly of 

your youth. Come, don't feel so badly about it, 

{Suddenly feels in his pocket.) By the way, I have a 

letter for you. 
Kate. Is — is it from — from my husband ? 
John {giving it). No, I think it's from the school trustees. 

No doubt they are going to give you a vacation. 
Kate {tearing it open and reading silently). Yes, they are 

going to give me a vacation — a long one. 
John, Why, Kate, you don't — you can't mean they've 

{Interrupted. ) 

Kate. That's what I mean, John. They've asked me to 

resign. 
John. This is more of Norwood Crane's work, 
Kate. Well, I suppose I shouldn't complain — God's ways 

are just. 
John. I feel for you deeply, Kate. 
Kate. I don't deserve your sympathy. I don't deserve 

anybody's sympathy. With this against my name, 

what is to become of me ? 
John. Why, you'll make your home here with us, 
Kate. No, no. 
John. I say, yes. And you've been teaching school 

long enough to have saved quite a sum. You surely 
42 



ALONG THE 311880 UBI 

will not want for anything. Money is a great thing, 
Kate — even a little money. 
Kate. You are right, money is a great thing — for those 
who have it. (AsiJe.) I cannot bring myself to tell 
him that I used my money to pay his assessment. 

( Crosses, half-sobbing, and exits into house.^ 

John. Poor Kate ! Poor Kate ! 

(^Enter Rip, l. u. e.) 

Rip. Say, Mister John. 
John. VVell, what is it ? 
Rip. I been down by th' village, an' folks down that-a-way 

is callin' you a monster. 
John. Calling me a monster ? 

Rip. Yep; an' say, is that what polytics does fer a feller? 
John. Yes, Rip. That's what politics does for a fellow. 
Rip (^grinning). Then I don't want no polytics in mine. 

{Goes up R., looks off. Bill and Aunt T. enter from 
house.^ 

Bill (has a nezvspaper, which he is flourishing). John, 

boy, have ye read th' papers to-day ? 
John. No — I haven't time. 
Bill. Then ye don't know what they've been sayin' about 

ye? 
John. Rip says they are calling me a monster. 
Bill. Wuss'n that — wuss'n tliat. 
Aunt T. I'd sue 'em fer libel, that's what Pd do. 
John. They can say nothing truthful against my character. 
Bill. But they've gone an' done it, just th' same. See 

there. {Holds paper before John, pointing.) "A 

Moral Monster ! Candidate for Legislature Shelters 

Suspicious Woman." 
John. My God — lias Kate seen this ? 

{Clutches his father'' s arm.) 

Bill. No, an' what's more, she ain't goin' to. 
Aunt T. No, we've kept the paper out of her sight. 
John {pacing up and down in a rage). The cowards — 

the hounds — to insinuate such a thing ! 
Bill. I didn't s'pose Tom Spuds 'd put a thing like that 

in his paper. 

43 



ALONG THE 3nsS0UEI 

John. Of course he'll put it in when he's paid for it. He 
has no conscience. 

Bill. Ye think Radbourne did tliis ? 

John. I know it, and when I gtt my hands on him 
agai n (interrupled. ) 

Bill {patting him on the shoulder). Come, boy, he ain't 
wuth it. He'll get his just deserts. 

John. Yes, he'll get his deserts, all right. There's one 
man who has a perfect right to kill the cad, but he is 
not here. 

Bill. You mean Dustin Barnes? 

John. Yes, he is entitled to Radbourne's life by every law 
of nature. 

Bill. But we can't go by th' law of nature, John — there's 
another law what holds us tighter. 

John. But there's such a thing as unwritten law, and Ran- 
dolph Radbourne may find he's played one card too 
many. {Sinks on bench.') Poor Kate — poor Kate ! 

Bill {trying hard not to seetn affected, half blubbers). By 
gosh, I'm so gol durn mad, that if I don't git some 
cider quick I'll bust. {Starts for door.) 

Rip {coming down). Say, Mr. Watson. 

Bill. Shet up. 

Rip. But say, do you know I {Interrupted.') 

Bill. Shet up ! 

Rip {subsiding). Guess I must 'a' made a mistake. 

{Exits 7ej hist ling, R. u. E.) 

Bill. Durn him ! He's got a habit of gittin' me all 

wrought up. I'll fire him some day. 
Aunt T. If you don't I will. He'd oughter have his 

neck wrung. 
Bill. Well, come on an' git me some cider. I feel like a 

volcany, an' if I don't git somethin' to cool me off, 

there'll be an eruption that'll put Vesuvius clean in th' 

shade. 

{She exits, he following. John rises.) 

John. Poor Kate — poor Kate ! 

{Exits after them.) 

(Maffitt and Virginia enter from r., through gate, talk- 
ing.) 

44 



ALONG THE MISSOURI 

Maffitt. You may as well make up your mind to obey 

me. 
Virginia. In anything but this. But when you ask me to 

tell you I do not love John Watson, I can't do it, for it 

would be a falsehood. 
Maffitt. And you are going to marry him ? 
Virginia. Yes. 
Maffitt. Did you not promise me once that you would 

never marry against my wishes ? 
Virginia. Yes, but that was a long time ago; before I was 

of age. And I was not in love then. 
Maffitt. I'll make it worth your while to give up John 

Watson, 
Virginia. Why, papa, what do you mean ? 
Maffitt. To-morrow this farm will be knocked down at 

auction to the highest bidder. If you promise to leave 

John Watson alone in the future, I will give you 

enough money with which to buy in the farm, and then 

you can present it to old Bill, or keep it as you please. 
Virginia. And if I refuse ? 
Maffitt. It will then fall into the hands of Randolph Rad- 

bourne, who will turn these people out of house and 

home. 
Virginia. Yes, the coward ! 
Maffitt. He is simply after a few of the good things of 

life — that's all. Come — what do you say ? 
Virginia. Give me time to think. {Sits on bench.') 
Maffitt. You will never regret it. 
Virginia. You don't realize what you ask of me. I love 

John too well to give him up. 
Maffitt. This is only a sudden passion. Once you are 

away from him, you will soon forgive me and forget him. 
Virginia. I could never do that. 
Maffitt. Will you try ? 
Virginia. Oh, I don't know — I don't know. Why won't 

you let me marry whom I please ? 
Maffitt. Because I don't want a daughter of mine linked 

to a man whom the papers are calling every name 

under the sun. 
Virginia. The papers are full of political lies. I don't 

believe a word of what they say. 
Maffitt. Still, it is bound to create scandal. I want 

your answer. 

45 



ALONG TEE 3IISS0URI 

Virginia. I — I {Interrupted.) 

Mafkitt. Are you prepared to see John Watson and his 

father driven from the old farm ? 
Virginia. No — no ! Not that. 
Maffitt. Then will you accept a check from me, fill it in 

to any amount necessary to purchase the farm at the 

sheriff's sale to-morrow, and give this young politician 

up ? 
Virginia. I — I — oh, why do you make it so hard for me? 

I — yes — yes — I will do as you ask. Give me the check. 
Maffitt {triumpha?itly). Now you are coming to your 

senses. A winter in Washington and a summer at 

Newport will drive John Watson from your mind. 

{Takes check-book from his pocket.) 

Virginia. Oh, papa, I — I 

{Interrupted by Barnes, who etiters L., through gate, atid 
comes down. He is in the best of health and neatly 
dressed.) 

Barnes. I beg your pardon ! (Virginia and Maffitt 
start.) I did not mean to startle you, Mr. Maffitt, but 
can you tell me {Interrupted.) 

Maffitt. What do you mean by this interruption ? I do 
not know you, sir. 

Barnes. Well, I don't wonder at that ; for the last time 
you saw me I wasn't quite as well groomed as I am 
now. 

Maffitt. Still you have the advantage, sir. 

Barnes. I am Dustin Barnes — the man Bill Watson sent 
away to the sanitarium. I had had a hard run of luck 
up to that time, but now, I am happy to say, I feel well 
both in mind and body. 

Maffitt {adjusting his glasses that he may better look at 
him). Well, well, so you are Barnes, eh? The man 
whom I wanted to kick out of Watson's house one 
night, eh? Do you remember that? But we'll let 
bygones be bygones. See here, you once asked me 
for work. Do you still want it ? 

Barnes. Yes. 

Maffitt. Well, here, then ( Writes on card which 

he takes from his pocket.) Here is a note to Mr. Cud- 
daway, the superintendent of the new railroad now 
46 



ALONG THE MISSOURI 

under construction. He is looking for good men. \ 

wisli you tlie best of luck. 
Barnes. Thank you. {Takes card, and starts up stage.') 
Maffitt. Hold a moment, Barnes, I may want another 

word with you. 
Barnes. I am at your service. [Stops up l.) 
Maffitt {down R., to Virginia). Let this man buy in the 

farm for you. Then we shall not be known in the 

transaction. Do you agree? 
Virginia. Yes. 
Maffitt. Ah — er — Barnes. My daughter wishes to speak 

with you. I see young Rip Stokey in the road yonder. 

I want him to do something for me. I will return 

shortly, Virginia. 

{Exits R., through gate.) 

Barnes {coming doivn). You have something to say to 

me, Miss Maffitt ? 
Virginia. Why, yes, I — I — am so glad to see this change 

in you. 
Barnes. Thank you. {Smiles.) It's about the only change 

I've had in some time. But, seriously, Miss Virginia, 

I owe it all to John Watson and his dear old father. 

Some day I hope to repay them. 
Virginia. You can do so at once if you wish. 
Barnes. I don't believe I understand. 
Virginia. The old farm has been foreclosed and will be 

sold by the sheriff to-morrow. You can buy it in and 

give it back to Mr. Watson. 
Barnes. I didn't think you'd make game of me, Miss 

Maffitt. 
Virginia. But I am in deadly earnest. 
Barnes. And you think I am able to buy in this farm ? 

Why, I couldn't buy one shingle off the roof of that 

house. 
Virginia. But I will make it possible for you to do this. 

Don't ask me why, but take this check. It was drawn 

by my father and is signed by him. You can bid in 

the farm to-morrow no matter what it costs, and fill in 

the check for the necessary amount. Will you do this 

for me? 
Barnes. I hardly understand, but I will do as you ask. 

47 



ALONG THE MISSOUIil 

{Takes check.') "Payable to bearer." You are sure 

this is genuine? 
Virginia. VViiy, I saw my father sign it. 
Barnes. Vtry well. 
Virginia. Then you will do as I wish ? 
Barnes. Yes. 
Virginia. Oh, thank you — thank you ! 

{Extends hand, which he touclies lightly. ) 

Barnes {going up l.). Six months ago I was sure there 
were no good women in the world, but now 1 know 
there is one good woman after all. 

{Exits, L. u. E.) 

{Enter John, /;-<?;« house.') 

John. Hello — been here long? {Takes her hand.) 
Virginia. No — I came over with papa — he is down in the 
field talking to Rip. 

{Turns away and withdraws hand.) 

John. Why, Virginia! What is the matter? You are 
trembling. Are you ill ? 

Virginia. Ill at heart — yes. 

John. Why are you ill at heart ? 

Virginia. Why — some — that is, certain things have — have 
come up recently, John, and I'm afraid all is over be- 
tween us. 

John. I don't understand. 

Virginia. And I can't explain. 

John. Do you not love me as you used to? 

Virginia. Why, yes, John, I — that is {Interrupted.) 

John. No — you do not. And that is not all — you are 
keeping something from me. I demand your reason 
for this strange conduct. 

Virginia. You have no right to demand it. 

John. 1 have evtry right. First, the right of any man to 
share the secrets of his fiancee ; second, the right to 
help and assist her when she is in trouble, and you are 
in trouble, Virginia — I feel sure of it. 

Virginia. No — no — I — that is, it is nothing. Father 
won't give his consent to the match, and I am sure I 
could never be hapi)y without his blessing. 

John. Virginia ! You say this to me ? 

48 



ALONG THE MISSOURI 

Virginia {satily). Yes. 

John. But this has come over you so suddenly. 

V^IRGINIA. Yes, but — it's true and that's all there is to it. 

{^Enter Maffitt, r. 3 e., listens.') 

John. You are going to cast me off without even an ex- 
planation ? 

Virginia. Yes — yes — I must — I must. 

John {seizing her arm). Virginia, this is not like you. 
Something has happened to turn you against me. 

Virginia. I have no explanation to offer, so let that end it. 

[Shakes him off.) 

John. But, Virginia {Interrupted.) 

Maffitt. Pardon me for interrupting this little drama, but 
I feel called upon to remark that my daughter is per- 
fectly right. She has no explanation to make to you, 
sir. 

John. But, Mr. Maffitt, this is unjust to me. 

Maffitt. I am the best judge of that. Do you think I 
want Virginia to marry a man who, to say the least, is 
not a gentleman ? 

John {after an effort to repress his rage). If it were not 
for your gray hairs, I would make you repent that 
speech ! 

Maffitt. I should not be surprised to receive an attack at 
your hands. It would only bear out what every one is 
saying about you. 

John. I know what they are saying, but they are liars and 
cowards who cast slurs at a man when his back is 
turned. That's the sort of people I have to deal with 
in this election, but just as sure as I am standing here 
I'll beat them until they whine like the curs they are. 
{Pause.) Now you can go — there's the path. 

{Foifits.) 

Maffitt. I'll go, but I'm not through with you yet. 
John. The fight is on to a finish, and the hotter you make 

it the better. {Pause.) I am still waiting for you 

to go. 
Maffitt. This may not be your place to-morrow. 
John. Yes, but it's ours to-day, and as long as we are in 

possession I'll thank you to keep off. 

49 



ALONG THE MISSOURI 

Virginia (^going toward him, hands outstretched^. Oh, 
John, John ! 

(John removes his hat, bows very low, and turns away. 
She hesitates, presses hand to her head, t/ie?t goes up to 
her father and they exeunt together, R. John stands 
down L., zinlil Bill enters from Jiouse, and seeing him, 
goes over to him.) 

Bill. Boy, what's th' matter ? 

John. Mr. Maffitt and Virginia have just left, father. 

Bill {eagerly). Yes, yes. 

John. Maffiit says I shall never marry Virginia, and 

worst of all, she sustains him in it. 
Bill. Not Virginny ? 
John. Yes. 

Bill. Not our Virginny gal that we all love so well ? 
John. Yes, yes. 
Bill. Why — why I never thought Virginny'd do a thing 

like that. But don't worry over it, boy — a gal that'd 

throw a feller over like that slie ain't much — she ain't 

much, 

(Kate enters from house, pausing on steps.") 

Kate. What's the matter, Uncle Bill ? 

Bill. Virginny's thrown John over, Kate. 

Kate. She has? 

Bill. Yes, but I say fer him not to worry, she ain't 
worth it. 

Kate. You are right. The woman who trifles with a true 
man's heart is little better than a criminal. Cheer up, 
John — remember he stands strongest who stands alone. 

John. You are right. This shall not ruin my life — my 
career. These people have started an unjust fight on 

me {Crosses to steps.) A fight against the 

people and their rights. But I'll champion the work- 
ing man's cause as long as there's a breath left in my 
body. I'll give up the old love and on with the new — 
hereafter my battle shall be for suffering humanity. 

{Exits into house. Daylight begins gradually to change to 
sunset.) 

Bill. You heard him, Kate ? My boy, John ! 

50 



ALONG THE MISSOURI 

Kate. And his resolve is a sensible one. If Virginia Maffitt 
has been influenced by her father in this matter, hers 
is not the true love a man like John deserves. 

Bill. Now, that's good sound sense, Kaie — good sound 
sense. 

(^Exits into house, nnittering to himself.') 

Kate. I would I had been as sensible years ago. If 
Dusiin only knew how repentant I am perhaps he would 
forgive me. But he will never know — never. 

(^Down R. at bench. Barnes enters, l. u. e., comes down 
C, sees her in the red glow of the sunset, bat her back 
is toward him and he does not recognize her.) 

Barnes. Oh, I beg pardon — I — I {She turns.) 

Kate ! 
Kate. Dustin ! 

Barnes. So after all these years I meet you foce to face? 
Kate. I — I hardly know what to say to you — I — I 

(^Interrupted. ) 

Barnes. Then say noihing. I have already heard enough 
lies from your lips. 

Kate. But I must, I will speak ! 

Barnes. All your fine words will never make up for what 
I have suffered. 

Kate. If you have suffered, so have I. 

Barnes. But what has your suffering been to mine — you, 
who have only a guilty conscience and the thoughts of 
the man you wronged to trouble you. Look at me ! I 
am but a wreck of my former self. Does it make you 
happy to know that it was you who started me on the 
road to ruin ? {Laughs bitterly.) 

Kate. Oh, Dustin, I know. The thought of it has been 
the bitterest part of my punishment. But — you — you 
are no longer that way. I can see it. You are once 
more the old Dustin I used to know. 

Barnes. Yes. The Watsons helped me. I went West 
and started again. I've done well. 

Kate. You — you will stay here, now ? 

Barnes. No. I go West again to-morrow. 

Kate. Oh, Dustin — take me with you — please. 

51 



ALONG THE 3IISS0UEI 

Barnes {laughing scornfully'). What — take you back? 

Why, I swore to kill you. I don't know why I dun't. 

Only — when I look into your eyes 

Kate. Oh, pity me, Dustin, pity me ! 

Barnes. Pity you ! Had you any pity in your lieart when 

you left me ? 
Kate {covering face 7vith hands). Oh, Dustin, Dustin ! 
Barnes. You were false to me once. How can I believe 

in you again ? 
Kate. Listen, Dustin. It was only because I was per- 
suaded you were false to me that I left you. I was 

mad with jealousy and wounded pride. 
Barnes. That villain told you 1 was false to you ? 
Kate. Yes. I have tried partly to atone by a life of hard 

work and sacrifice. I am changed, Dustin, believe me. 
Barnes. If I could believe you ! 
Kate {suddenly). Let my friends here speak for me — the 

Watsons. They know my repentance. May I bring 

them here? {Starts toward house.) 
Barnes. No. Stay here. I will speak to them myself. 

{Exits to house.) 

Kate {throwing herself on bench). Oh, he must believe 
me, he must ! 

{E7iter ^\T>.,fro>n L., through gate.) 

Rad. Ah, a pretty picture. 

Kate {springing to her feet and facing him). Go ! You 
must go at once. 

Rad. Indeed! Why? 

Kate. You have done enough mischief. He must not find 
you here with me. Go. 

Rad. He ? Who ? 

Kate. My husband. 

Rad. What! That good-for-nothing? Has he turned 
up? Why, you wouldn't look at him — a disreputable 
vagabond. {Enter Barnes and John from house.) 
Come, Kate, let's be friends. What do we care for 
that tramp? 

{Puts arm around her. Barnes starts foriuard, but John 
cliecks him.) 

52 



ALONG THE 3nSS0UIiI 

Kate (graspi//g Kad.^s arm and throwing it frovi her). 

Care for him ! I have always cared for him. You 

deceived rue for a few weeks into thinking 1 did not. 

But I know now that I always loved him, and I always 

will. 
Barnes (^coining down, a?id holding out arms to her). 

Kate ! 
Kate. Oh, Dustin ! 

{She hides head OJi his shoulder, sobbing.) 

Rad. The reconciliation ! [Laughs.) A very touching 

picture — very. 
Barnes {springi?ig toward him — while John takes Kate's 

hand). You scoundrel — you stole her from me once, 

but you cannot part us again. 
Rad. Oh, you're welcome to her — such as she is ! 
Barnes (^furious). You unspeakable coward. I swore 

I'd kill you, and by heaven I will, 

[Draws revolver and points it. Rad. coivers. Kate 
springs toward Barnes, grasps his wrist, and turns 
pistol up into air.) 

Kate. Dustin, don't ! Don't shoot him ! [Tableau.) 
Barnes. What! You love him, then, after all? [To 

Rad., who makes a step.) Don't move ! 
Kate. No. I hate him. But — it would be murder, Dustin 

— and it would be my fault. Oh, Dustin, 1 have enough 

to bear, without that ! Let him go ! 

Barnes. What ! Let him go — that snake 

Kate. Yes, For my sake, Dustin. 

John. She's right, Barnes. Killing is too good for him. 

Barnes [lowering pistol). I guess you're right. [To 

Rad.) Go. You owe your life to her. 

[Points to Kate.) 

[Exit Rad. through gate and off L.) 

[Enter Bill atid A\]'!^t T.,from house.) 

Bill [coming down). Why, it's Barnes again ! 

Barnes. Yes, it's Barnes again. That's just it. I'm a 
man once more and master of myself, — thanks to you, 
and to my wife. [Drazvs Kate to him.) 

53 



ALONG THE MJSSOUi:/ 

. ' T, I Your wife ! 
Aunt T. j 

Barnes. Yes. We have buried the past. The villain 

who injured our happiness has been plotting also against 

yours. But don't worry, good friends. (^Draws Kate 

to him with right hand, and gives left hand to '^WA..') 

The good old Missouri sun is still shining, and it's all 

coming out right — coming out right. 

{Tableau. Kate, l., Barnes, l. c, Bill, c, Aunt T., 
R. c, and JOHti, r.) 



CURTAIN 



54 



ACT IV 

SCENE. — Haridsome interior, with large arch or ivide door 
up c, or may be on the oblique, up\.. Doors L. a7id 
R. Table and chairs down R. Sofa down L. In- 
terior backing. Dance 7nusic heard off L. 

(Maffitt and Rad. discovered, entering through arch at 
rise. They go to table and sit, Maffitt, r., Rad., l.) 

Rad. You can evade the issue no longer, Maffitt — I must 

have an answer. 
Maffitt. Do not press me for an answer to-nig]it. 
Rad. I am not pressing you unduly. Are you not under 

obligations to me ? 
Maffitt. Yes, yes. 
Rad. When the finances of your bank were at a low ebb, 

I tided you over, did I not ? 
Maffitt. Yes. 

Rad. Thereby saving you from ruin ? 
Maffitt. Yes, but at what a cost. Ever since that day I 

have been completely in your power. 
Rad. Oh, don't put it that way. Say, rather, that I have 

exerted a beneficial influence over you. 
Maffitt. But you are not satisfied with a mortgage on all 

my available property, but want a mortgage on Vir- 
ginia's hand, as well. 
Rad. Well, that need not worry you. Virginia loves me. 
Maffitt. I fear she does not. 
Rad. Has she said so? 
Maffitt. Yes. 

Rad. Well, she'll learn to love me, anyway. 
Maffitt. I do not think so. 
Rad. She must ! 
Maffitt (/« despair). Do as you will. I am in your 

power. 
Rad. (laughing). Yes, you're in my power. One snap 

of my fingers can spell ruin in large letters for you. So 

remember, I must have my answer within half an hour. 

(^Rises.) 
55 



ALONG THE MISSOURI 

Maffitt. You shall have it if matters can be brought to a 

crisis within that time. {Also rises.) 
Rad. If matters are not brought to a crisis within that time, 

I shall take immediate steps to foreclose the mortgage. 
Maffitt. Yes, I suppose so. I did not hope for mercy 

from such as you. 
Virginia {off l.). Very well, Miss Watson, I shall see 

papa at once. He will be glad to have news from 

home. 
Maffitt. Virginia is coming. Leave us. 
Rad. Very well, but remember — within half an hour, 

{Exits through arch.) 

{Enter Virginia, l. She is laughing, but stops when she 
sees her father's sober face.) 

Virginia. Why, papa, what's the matter ? {Goes to hitn.) 

Maffitt. Virginia, I have a painful subject to discuss with 
you, — your engagement to Randolph Radbourne. 

Virginia {sitting on settee). Why speak of that now? 

Maffitt. Because it is necessary, imperative, that a deci- 
sion be reached at once. 

Virginia. But what can I do ? 

Maffitt. I know how you feel about the matter. But he 
is pressing me closely, and unless I comply with his 
wishes within a half hour, he will foreclose the mort- 
gage he holds on my property, and we will be ruined, 
for I have not a cent with which to face the world. 

Virginia. And he is forcing you to this ? 

Maffitt. Yes. 

Virginia. Well, he expects too much. Why should I be 
made to pay the price of my father's extravagance? 

Maffitt. I don't know, Virginia — I don't know. 

Virginia. How can a man like this Radbourne expect to 
marry a woman with a spotless reputation ? 

Maffitt. Oh, I know Radbourne was indiscreet while 
young, but every young man must sow his wild oats. 

Virginia. Is that any reason why we women should reap 
the whirlwind? 

Maffitt. I have nothing more to say, Virginia. Do as 
you wish. ( Totters toward table. ) 

Virginia {springing toward him, supports him, hands on 

56 



ALONG THE IHSSOUEI 

his shoulders). Papa, tell me truthfully, do you want 
me to marry this man ? 

Maffitt. It means ruin for me if you do not ! 

Virginia. And you would rather see me in his arms, 
knowing who and what he is and how I loathe him, than 
have ruin stare you in the face ? 

Maffitt {after some hesitation). No — Virginia, no ! 
{Takes her hand.) Do as you think best, and I will 
abide by your decision. {They go up toward r.) 

Virginia. Oh, thank you, thank you. 

Maffitt. But he must have an answer, one way or an- 
other, within half an hour. 

[They exeunt, talking, R.) 

{Enter Bill, through arch. He is looking back, waving a 
'^ bandantia" handkerchief to some one in the ball- 
room. Turns.) 

Bill. Listen to that moosic, would ye? Why, th* fiddlin' 
they have at these Jefferson City balls beats Tom Smith 
all to smash. {Sees footstool.) Hello, durned if they 
ain't got pincushions on th' floor. This is a strange 
town, anyway. I run about three blocks this mornin' 
to tell a feller his wagon was leakin', but he said it was 
all right — it was a sprinklin' cart. I went so far I had 
to take a street-car to git back. I took hold o' one o' 
them harnesses what's hangin' from th' top o' th' car, 
an' th' way I swung around on them ladies' laps was a 
caution. 1 reckon I stepped on one lady's foot, fer she 
said, "Old man, look where you put your feet." I 
says, " Young lady, I brung them feet in with me, an' 
I've got to put 'em somewhere." Th' only thing that 
bothers me about them blame street-cars is that clock 
they've got hangin' in one end o' th' place with a 
clothes-line tied to it. Every time the conductor got a 
nickel he'd pull th' clothes-line, an' the clock says 
"Ding ! " One minute the thing says "In," and th' 
next minute it says "Out." Th' only conclusion I 
could reach was that it told how much th' conductor 
was in, an' how much th' company was out. 

{Etiter Rip and Km^t T., through arch.) 

Rip [pointing at Bill). Huh — there he is, Aunt Tillie. 

57 



ALONG THE 3IISS0UBI 

Bill. Hullo — where you folks been ? 

Aunt T. Where have you been, Bill Watson ? We've 
been huntin' all over this blessed place fer you. Come 
pretty nigh gittin' lost. Lawsee — if anybody back to 
Watsonville had told me th' governor of Missoury had 
sich a fine place, I'd have called them a prevaricator 
right to their face. 

Bill. Well, you better get used to it. Here's our John 
in the legislature, and he may be governor and livin' 
right here before ye know it. 

Aunt T. Well, it beats me. (^Looks about.') 

Bill. You've got some few things to learn yet, Tillie. 

Rip. You bet she has. {She strikes at hitn; he dodges.) 
Say, Mister Watson. 

Bill. Well, what is it ? 

Rip. You know that old lop-eared mule o' ourn? 

Bill. Yep — v/hat about him ? 

Rip. Nothin', only he's still there ! 

Bill. Now you git out o' here 'fore I git mad an' tan your 
jacket. (^Starts for him. Rip runs out L.) 

Aunt T. Fer goodness' sake behave yourself while you're 
here, Bill, an' don't let your nasty temper git the best 
of you. 

Bill, You mind your own business, an' I'll 'tend to mine. 

Aunt T. Well, I'll have to keep an eye on that boy. 
{Over to L. I E.) No tellin' what he'll do if he's 
allowed to roam around the ballroom. He might 
make John sorry he got us this invite to th' ball. 

i^Exits.) 

(Rad. appears in arch, looking off.) 

Bill. Well, durn me, if there ain't that feller, Radbourne, 

all dressed up in swaller-spikes. 
Rad {turning). Ah, Mr. Watson, how are you? 

{Offers hand. Bill looks at it a tninute, shakes his head.) 

Bill. No, I reckon not. 

Rad. You won't shake hands with me? 

Bill. No. Before I left Watsonville, they told me to look 
out fer bunco steerers. I'd rather shake hands any 
day with a common sneak-thief than one who steals 
under th' name o* financierin'. 

58 



ALONG THE MISSOURI 

{Enter John, through arch, listens.) 

Rad. If you were a younger man, Mr. Watson, I'd make 

you regret that speech. 
Bill. Oh, ye would ? [Starts to roll up his sleeves.") 
Rad, Yes, but your age entitles you to some consideration. 
John (coming down between them). I am not entitled to 

that consideration. In regard to age, you and I are 

equal. 
Bill {proudly). My son, John ! 
Rad. Men of my set do not quarrel with their inferiors, 

{Turns away.) 

John. There are no inferiors to the set to which you 
belong. 

Rad. {laughing). I have become used to vulgar boasts 
since coming to America, yet it will be a great consola- 
tion when I return to England next month, with Miss 
Mafifitt as my bride, to know that I shall never again 
be forced to set foot on American soil, or speak to 
people who are not my equals. 

John. With such blood in your veins you could never be- 
come an American. 

Rad. I don't want to. The sun never sets on the British 
Empire, and it's good enough for me. 

Bill. Do you know why the sun never sets on the British 
Empire? It's because th' Lord's afraid to trust such 
Englishmen as you in th' dark ! 

John. And now we can dispense with your presence. 

Rad. No — I shall dispense with yours. 

{Exits, angrily, through arch.) 

Bill. Boy, th' society that feller belongs to is so durned 
rotten it's beginnin' to decay. It's bad enuff to be 
robbed ofVirginny, without havin' it slung in your face 
by a rat like that. 

John. Father, I've heard to-day from Dustin Barnes. He 
and Kate are in town, and I've invited them here. If 
he and Radbourne meet there may be trouble. 

Bill. That's so. Well, we'll hope they won't meet. My, 
but I'll be glad to see them. How are they? 

John. Very well. And, father, I hear Barnes has struck 

59 



ALONG THE MISSOURI 

it rich. They found a copper mine on that Montana 
land of his. 
Bill. Ye don't say ! Well, they deserves it, him and 
Kate. 

{Enter Maffitt, r. i e.) 

Maffitt. Ah, Mr. Watson. I am glad to see you in 

Jefferson City. How do you do, John ? 
Bill. Well, if it ain't Manders Maffitt ! 

(Zr<f shakes his hand. John bows, and turns away.') 

Maffitt. John, I understand your bill to make an eight- 
hour day for the working man has passed the legisla- 
ture? 

John. Yes, I got it through last night at the extra session. 

Maffitt. I am glad to hear of your good fortune. 

John {sigfiificantly). Are you, Mr. Maffitt? 

Maffitt. Why, surely you know that I have always had 
your welfare at heart. 

John. You have a short memory, sir. 

Bill. I reckon John's about right, Maffitt. When you 
wrong one Watson, you wrong th' whole family. 

Maffitt. I do not understand you. 

Bill. Yes, ye do. John ain't fergot th' way you talked 
about him before election. 

Maffitt. But that was merely friendly political rivalry. 

John. Political rivalry ! In my father's house lived a 
wronged woman, whose past life you made public in 
order to defeat me. 

Maffitt. Why, I — I (^Interrupted.) 

Bill. It's true, Maffitt, every word of it. Kate Patton was 
just as pure an' good a woman as ever lived, but she'd 
fallen into the hands of a scoundrel. Which was th' 
worst, my harborin' th' woman under my roof, or you 
keepin' th' scoundrel under yours ? 

Maffitt. Well, you will admit she ran away from her 
husband. People will talk, you know, in such cases. 
And then it was a little peculiar, her paying your nomi- 
nation assessment that way 

John. Paying my assessment ! What do you mean ? 

Maffitt. What ! Don't pretend ignorance. Brown, the 
county chairman, told me about how she came to him. 

BiLT, {to John). The dear girl. Wasn't that jest like 
Kate? But she ought not to have done it. 
60 



ALONG THE 3IISS0UIiI 

John. No. She must have used all her savings. Well, 

I'll make it up to her. 
Maffitt. I'm really sorry if I've done her or you an in- 
justice. All I want is to pass my old age somewhere in 

peace and quiet. I have no ill feeling now and 1 hope 

all John's hopes may be realized. 
John. There is one hope which it is impossible for me to 

realize. 
Maffitt. You mean — Virginia ? 
John. I do, sir. Perhaps you know why she threw me 

over — I do not. But I cannot help thinking you forced 

her to it. 

Maffitt. Why, John, I — I 

John. Do you mean to tell me you did not ? 
Maffitt, I was opposed to the match — yes. 
John. You mean you are still opposed to it — although you 

know neither of us can ever be happy without the 

other. 
Maffitt. You — you think she still loves you. 
John. I am sure of it. 
Maffitt {aside). I know she does. {To John.) Well, 

if she still wishes to marry you, I will not stand in the 

way. 
John {joyfully). I may tell her that ? 
Maffitt. Yes. {Aside. ) I have made them happy 

But at what a sacrifice. 
John. I will go to her at once. {Starts toivard arch, but 

stops.) Why, here are Barnes and Kate. 
Maffitt. Then I'll go. 
Bill. Don't ye do it. They'll be glad to see an old 

friend. 

(JEnter Barnes and Kate through arch.) 

Barnes. How are you, Mr. Watson — John ! My, but I'm 
glad to get hold of your hands again. 

(Barnes, Bill awrf' John shake hands.) 

Kate. Please — can't I come in too? 

Bill. Well, I guess. 

John. No, Kate, you can't come in — because you never 

went out. We've always included you in the family ; 

and now since I owe so much to you — oh, Kate, I've 
6i 



ALONG THE MISSOURI 

just heard what you did for me. It was fine, but you 

ought not 

Kate {laughing). There — that's enough. I only paid 

part of my debt to you and Uncle Bill. 
Bill. Uncle Bill, eh? You ain't forgot that, have ye? 

My, but that sounds fine. 
Kate (/^ John). Why aren't you with Virginia? I saw 

her moping by herself out there. 
John. Why, Kate, you know she and I — before you went 

away you know — well, you know what she did. 

{Desperately.) 

Barnes. Yes, 1 know she threw you over only because she 
was told it was the only way to save the old place for 
you all. Do you mean to say you don't know that was 
the reason ? 

John. Why — no. I don't understand. How 

Kate {laughing). Go and ask her then. It's time you 
and she were getting better acquainted. 

John. I will ask her — right now. 

Barnes. Well, that'll come out all right then. 

Bill. Here's her father. Here's Mr. Maffitt. You re- 
member him. 

Barnes {shaking Maffitt's hand, as Kate bows). We 
have just been hearing some news about Mr. Maffitt. 

Maffitt. About me? What can you have heard ? 

Barnes. That Randolph Radbourne, as you know him, 
has a mortgage on every cent of your property and has 
threatened to foreclose. Is this true ? 

Maffitt {sadly). Yes, I am sorry to say it is. 

Barnes. What, if I may ask, is the nature of this obliga- 
tion ? 

Maffitt. During the money panic which followed the 
election last year, my bank became sorely in need of 
funds. He offered to tide me over. I mortgaged all 
my property, as I had no alternative but to accept or 
go to the wall. 

Barnes. And he has pressed this mortgage? 

Maffitt. I have not known a moment's peace since I be- 
came under obligations to him. Good Heavens I the 
agony of mind ! VVill it never, never end? 

Barnes. Don't give up yet. Where is this man? 

Maffitt. He is in this house. 

62 



ALONG THE 311880 UBI 

Barnes. In this house ? You don't mean that ? 
Bill. He's right, Barnes — I saw him myself. 

(John and Virginia enter, r., talking ; they walk over 
and sit 071 so/a.) 

Barnes. I did not expect to meet with such good fortune. 

(^Enter quickly through arch, Rad., goes doivn to Maffitt, 
payitig no attention to the others, who stare at him.) 

Rad. I have come for my answer. 

Barnes. Then receive it from me ! 

Rad. (turning quickly). Barnes ! 

Barnes. Yes, come back to give you a taste of your own 

medicine. 
Rad. Well? 
Barnes. According to our Western code, I ought to have 

killed you long ago, but 1 have a better fate for you. 

Now, what is the amount of Mr. Maffitt's debt? 
Rad. I refuse to talk to you. 

Maffitt. The debt is ^22,000, including the interest. 
Barnes. I will write a check for the amount. (^To Rad.) 

And you write a receipt in full. 
Virginia (^springing up). But, Mr. Barnes, we cannot allow 

this. 

Rad., a sneering smile on his face, sorites the receipt at 
table. ) 

Barnes. Hold on, Miss Maffitt, I'm doing this for you and 
John. 

(Pulls check- book and fountain pen fro?n pocket and writes 
check, which he hands to Rad. after first taking the 
receipt.) 

Maffitt. How can I thank you ? 

Rad, Now, are you through with me ? 

Barnes. Not quite. Since you are so fond of mortgages, 

perhaps you would like to buy one of your own for 

^100,000 from the Bernard Banking Company of Wall 

Street, New York. 
Rad. What do you know of the Bernard Banking 

Company ? 



ALONG THE 3IISS0URI 

Barnes. Enough to realize that you can never pay that 
debt. It falls due next Friday. 

Rad. They will not press me. The members of the 
Bernard Banking Company are honorable men in every 
sense of the word. 

Barnes. Perhaps that is true, only the firm which formerly 
went under that name is now known as Dustin 
Barnes & Company. 

Rad. This is some trick to deceive me. 

Barnes. You will find me in my New York cfhce Friday 
afternoon at four o'clock. At that hour you will pay 
me the sum of $100,000, or I shall foreclose this 
mortgage and take everything you possess. 

Rad. Would you ruin me ? 

Barnes. Who are you to talk of ruin ? Did you stop to 
think of ruin when ypu deceived a trusting girl years 
ago ? Did you think of ruin when you lent Mr. Maffitt 
money to save his bank and demanded in return not 
only compound interest, but the hand of his daughter 
as well? Now go, Norwood Crane, before I do you 
harm. Our account is beginning to balance at last. 
Go, I say! (^Points. ^ 

Rad. (,^oiNg tip to arch, turns'). I'll remember this ! 

Bill. Let's hope you do — it's a durn good lesson fer ye, 

(Rip and Aunt T. enter through arch, just as Barnes and 
Kate and John and Virginia embrace.^ 

Rip. Say, Mr. Watson ! 

Bill {looking arouiid slyly at the two couples'). Shet up, 
consarn ye — can't ye see they're busy ! 

Barnes {coming down with Kate). Mr. Watson, when 
are you going back to the farm ? 

Bill. Why, ter-morrer, I guess. Things' 11 be needin' me 
there. 

Barnes. Well, will it be convenient for you to have 
visitors? 

Bill. What, you an' Kate? Well, I just guess. 

Barnes {looking arotmd). Let's all go back there. What 
do you say, friends? {All assent, loudly.) Let's go 
back to the old farm long enough to get the bad taste 
of the world out of our mouths. T guess you'll have to 
take us all in, Uncle Bill. And what a time we'll have. 
64 



ALONG THE MISSOURI 



For real happiness I guess there's no better place in the 
world than right down there along the Missouri. 





Picture : 






Kate 


Barnes 


Rip 


Bill 






Aunt T. 
Virginia 


Maffitt 






John 



CURTAIN 



65 



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